


Lion of the Rock

by WriterChick



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Abortion, Abuse, Alternate Universe - Mob, Baelishes AU, Crime, Domestic Violence, Drugs, F/M, Modern AU, Murder, NOT SIBLINGS IN THIS, Organized Crime, Rape, Sexual Violence, Trauma, Unhappy marriage, Violence, affair, so no incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-05-02 17:16:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 51,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14549499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriterChick/pseuds/WriterChick
Summary: Takes place 20yrs prior to Baelishes AU -- Jaime and Cersei are 19 in this. It is the story of how they met, got together, and started their empire.





	1. Eye-Catching

  

 

 

Robert left her to talk business again, something Cersei used to be offended by. In the two years that they’d been married however, she’d learned to be grateful for the break. He’d dragged her along to meet with Ned Stark at their favorite bar, The Falcon’s Nest. The establishment the two men preferred was unoriginal to say the least. Medium wood tones, green leather seats, stained glass light fixtures hanging over each booth. There were a couple of pool tables and a backroom that Robert liked working from as much as possible. It was decorated with deer antlers and completely out of place in the city. Robert didn’t care, he enjoyed the raw masculinity of having dead things pinned to the wall.

Cersei thought of the last time he’d nailed her to the wall by her throat. Robert was nothing if not predictable. The fact that Catelyn wasn’t in attendance meant that Ned hadn’t expected this to be a business call. Add to that, the fact that Ned’s eyes widened when he saw her, any question Cersei may have had as to Robert’s method of getting the head of the Stark Wolf Pack to meet was answered easily: deception.

Her husband wasn’t the best at it, but that didn’t mean he didn’t still try it from time to time. Luckily for him, Ned Stark was even less skilled in that regard, and often fell prey to Robert’s clumsy manipulations. Cersei smiled wryly into her drink. The man she'd shackled herself to wasn’t cunning enough for his place of power and often times had to make up for it with brute force.

On this very night, he'd literally twisted her arm and loaded her in the car, growling that he couldn’t trust she wouldn’t fuck around on him in his absence. He wasn’t wrong. It had become sport to see how many people she could screw behind his back. Occasionally, he would grow suspect and give her a shiner or a fat lip. Fortunately, he was never able to substantiate any assumption, else she'd be in a body bag at best, or stuffed in a barrel at the bottom of the sea at worst.

Robert liked to ‘dip his wick’ in any available pussy that caught his eye, but would never allow such infidelity from her. She was picked purely for breeding, though not based on her lineage so much as her attractive genes. Love didn’t factor in, never had and never would.

She was only seventeen, living with her impoverished parents when Robert Baratheon, head to the Baratheon crime family, set his sights on her. He was big and strong, rich and powerful. He wanted her beauty and bought it with a lamborghini and a ring. She wasn’t truly given a choice, her parents all too ready to sign her away to him. In battered and bruised moments spent splayed out on the floor, Cersei would sob and bleed and lie to herself--saying that if she was given a choice she would have declined his handsome offer. 

Cersei downed her drink and tapped the bar top for another, bitterly knowing that even without her parents pressing the issue she would have accepted. She came from nothing and he promised to give her everything. At seventeen how was she to know the price she’d pay for it? Besides, what was the occasional bruise compared to a Versace of her own? The bartender fed her another spirit and she smiled to herself knowing that it was the only thing that kept her going. Booze, and the times Robert loved bonding with Ned more than beating her.

There were moments she wondered why she let it go on, why she didn’t just give up and overdose. Then there were other times she wondered how much longer she could endure, finding any reason no matter how arbitrary to keep pushing on. Robert didn’t let her in on the business side of things, but he did let her have his credit card, laughing that no matter what she bought, it couldn’t put a dent into his wealth. She told herself that she enjoyed a challenge. Spending his money and making a fool of him would be her reason to live.

A strong, and not entirely unpleasant cologne filled her nostrils, the voice belonging to it sounding in her ear. “It’s a smart man that fills the prettiest woman’s glass before the richest man’s.”

Cersei didn’t bother to turn her head, but did roll her eyes in his direction. It was the perfect gesture to tell someone their presence wasn’t wanted, while also getting a look at them. He was a young blond buck, tall and lean, head-to-toe muscle. Quite the opposite from the dark haired, doughy, and boringly average Robert. Also unlike Robert, the man leaned against the counter next to her as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

Oh, to give no fucks. 

She looked forward, determined not to give him the attention he sought. “Bars are for big boys, best keep walking.”

“Oh, I bet we’re the same age, or close to.” He flashed her a toothy grin.

She sighed, keeping her eyes off him as she answered, “Rules don’t apply to people who matter. Tuck your balls back in your pants and fuck off.”

“Easy now, I’m kind of a big deal.” He held one hand up, obviously trying to get her to notice him with the movement.

Cersei smiled into her glass. “If you were, you wouldn’t be getting your own drinks.”

She could see him laugh and look up as he countered, “Maybe I wanted an excuse to meet the beautiful woman sitting all by herself at the bar.”

“Ahh, that makes sense.” She turned, rounding on him, speaking through her teeth. “I’m sitting here by myself, so you think I’m an easy target. Just how much liquid courage did it take for you to come up and pathetically wag your tongue at me?”

He blinked a couple of times and then laughed, genuinely. “You’re unbelievably sexy. But you already know that.”

“I do,” she agreed. Of course she was sexy, she belonged to Robert Baratheon. “And you’re out of your league.”

“Why would you think that?” He flashed her his canines again. Even though she knew she should, she found she couldn’t turn away. He was much more handsome in her direct line of sight. But, realizing that wouldn’t do either of them any good. Robert would fillet him alive for talking to her and she’d get even more bruises to wear for leading the man on, even though she’d definitely made efforts to shake him.

He tossed a couple hundreds on the counter and gestured for the bartender to give him the bottle. He held up two fingers, indicating a desire for two glasses. “You’re so sure I’m just another nobody horny for you. Why not share a drink and tell me why?”

A drink was a drink. If he was stupid enough to buy Robert Baratheon’s wife one, then it was his own fault if he ended up at the bottom of the river. She let her eyes roam his chest, so well-defined under his shirt, the top two buttons undone. Fuck, he was delicious. She felt her nipples constrict as she thought of bracing herself on that strong chest to better straddle him.

Cersei took a deep breath, trying to calm her libido, and decided that accepting a drink from a hunk like that was worth whatever bruise Robert colored her with. She clinked her glass against his in a silent thank you and regained her focus. “Men who matter don’t need an excuse to talk to a woman they want. They simply send for them and we women are expected to come when we’re called.”

She’d seen it a thousand times with Robert and any one of the random whores he intended to bang with or without her present for. On his kinder days he’d say it was for a threesome, and in his meaner moments he’d tell her that if she didn’t bruise as easily and ‘ugly up,’ he wouldn’t have to ‘put it to’ other women.

The man in front of her sighed, “How utterly common.” She scoffed into her drink at that. He then eyed her up and down, sucking on his canine as he did. “You’re better than that--I can tell. You’re not a dog to come when called.”

“You don’t know me,” she argued, loathing this was a point to argue. The kind of fear a person felt with a pistol shoved in their mouth while beaten with a belt would make anyone whimper and obey eventually.

“I’m making the effort.” He poured himself another glass, his flirtatious smile never fading as he did.

Cersei wasn’t sure if it was his build or his naivety, that made him so attractive, but she felt drawn to him regardless. Muscles were fun to nibble on, but naivety was delectable in it’s own way. As much as he tried to tell her that he was important, it was difficult to believe at such a young age, and in such plain clothes--not recognizing a single designer on him. She let her eyes trail over him again, fantasizing about outfitting his physique, which truly was nothing short of magnificent. Cersei bit her lip, noticing that the more she looked at him, the easier that same image of straddling him came to mind.

Perhaps if she met him on her own, away from Robert’s stomping ground she could enjoy a bit of fun with him. One glance at the cloudy mirror behind the bar, the worn wood, the tarnished brass foot rest under her, reminded her that this was not the place to find a secret fuckboy. She made a show of looking him up and down before she tried pushing him away yet again. “You don’t make enough money to please me.”

“Like that is it?” He laughed, “You a gold digger?”

There was no point in trying to deny it. Her parents sold her for money and she would have gladly done the same if she could. “Through and through.”

He chuckled and filled her empty glass. “I appreciate your honesty.”

Why was he still there? She’d brushed him off many times over, yet he didn’t seem capable of taking a hint. Not that she minded the view. “Look,” she said with a bit more edge to her voice than she meant. “I’m saving you the time and energy.” She waved her hand in the air dismissively. “All I really want in life is money and power, champagne and a hard cock between my legs.”

The blonde coughed his drink, laughing, “ _Jesus._ ”

Just when Cersei thought she’d said the magic words to get him walking, he leaned casually on his elbow, resting his face on his fist as he grinned at her. “You sound just like me.”

She paused, her drink in her mouth. That was not a response she’d expected at all and she found she couldn’t fight the dimples pressing her cheeks.

“Oh, did I get you to smile?” he teased.

She pursed her lips, and let her hair fall in front of her face, trying in vain to hide her growing grin.

He picked his head up and leaned into her, so close she could feel his breath on her shoulder. “Just because I don’t have the sense of style you do, doesn't mean I don’t have cash.” His hand dropped down to his blazer, holding it open to show his pistol. “And, it doesn’t mean I’m not  _connected_ , either.”

He looked too young to be connected. Granted, he was probably right about them being similar in age, but a person didn’t form connections this young unless they were family, by blood or marriage. She didn’t recognize him for either. “Who do you know?”

“It’s not who I know. It’s who knows me,” he smirked. “My name’s  _Lannister_.”

“Tywin’s boy, huh?” The Lannisters owned about a quarter of the city, one of the oldest names known. Tywin was the patriarch, and he ruled with an iron fist. Robert hated him, but then again, he hated everyone who wasn’t Ned. Cersei scoffed, “Funny, you don’t look like a midget.”

“Dwarf," he corrected, strangely a little offended. "I’m his other son, Jaime.” 

Tywin was dead, of his own volition. Cersei had heard that he killed himself after he experienced some memory loss. For as much as Robert disliked him, he was very vocal about his admiration for the man. She remembered him slurring his drunken words as he proclaimed, “Now that was a real man! Blew his brains out rather than have them go soft on him! No fucking pudding-home for him!”

Cersei made it a point to dislike anyone that Robert showed any degree of respect for, on principle. She turned that distaste towards the man in front of her, regardless of how striking he was. “Wow, did Daddy give you the keys to the kingdom before he offed himself?”

She was sure mention of his father’s suicide would be the last straw. That was surprisingly not the case. Completely unfazed, Jaime shrugged. “My brother helped me acquire them.” Jaime’s eyes landed lower on her, to her stomach. She wondered if the move was subconscious or not. He licked his lips. “We value family, my brother and I.”

“Oh, that’s code for wife-hunting.” Cersei rolled her eyes at his transparency, challenging him. If he was just looking for a quick fuck, he needed to learn how to talk a woman up better. If he was legitimately looking for some sort of spousal potential, he was barking up the wrong tree. She felt she could end this quickly by telling him she was married and to who, but the thought of extinguishing whatever this was, didn’t appeal. She pressed on, “Happy hunting Jaime Lannister, may you find your own gold-digging trophy bride.”

His laugh was infectious and unrestrained. It made her glance over her shoulder, checking to make sure it hadn’t gotten Robert’s attention only a room away. He had eyes out there too, but they weren’t as reactive as Robert. She knew that if her husband saw this man looking so perfect and speaking only to her, he’d want him dead in a heartbeat. For as little as he actually desired her, Robert demanded she desire no other. His insecurity would flare up if he caught sight of such a young, handsome specimen of man chatting his young wife up. Robert wasn’t especially old, but he was more so than she was, and therefore probably older than Jaime too. She knew that men grew insecure about those sorts of things.

She shot him a quick look with a furrowed brow. Cersei didn’t think anything she said was particularly funny.

“I just got the keys, sweetheart. I’m not looking for commitment.” He held his hand up as if swearing an oath. She wondered who he was trying to convince, her or himself? To drive the point further he laughed, “I can assure you, I’m just looking to have fun at the moment.”

A small part of her deflated at that. It was absurd. She was a married woman with zero hope of having anything serious with anyone, let alone this kid who inherited his father’s wealth and position. What did she care if Jaime Lannister wanted a wife to share his kingdom with?

Interrupting her thoughts, he suddenly asked, “So who do I have to kill in order to fuck you?”

She gave him a look of complete and utter doubt. “What makes you think that you could have me if you killed someone?”

“You want me, but you can’t let yourself have me.” He smiled devilishly, reading her so easily.

Had she been that obvious? She swallowed, trying to regain her confidence. “I’m pretty sure, I can fuck whoever I want.”

“No,” he said simply.

Cersei glared. “No?”

“You’re married.” He pointed to her ring. “If I had a wife, any guy who dared to even just think about fucking her had better kill me first, or it wouldn’t be very pretty for him, if you catch my drift.”

She remained silent, refusing to commit to an answer--of any sort.

He whispered, “And let me tell you, I’ve dared think it quite a bit in the past twenty minutes.”

Cersei felt another smile come on.

Jaime gestured casually to her pleased expression. “I’d naturally put an end to any man that wanted to fuck my wife. But I’d kill him twice over if I found out that she wanted to fuck him too.”

Cersei blinked at him, grinning unabashed.

“So you see, I gotta off this guy before he comes after me, because I promise you, the feeling between you and me is _mutual._ ” He brought his hand to hers.

She waved his palm away from hers and responded defensively, “Me? What makes you think I want you?”

Jaime raised his glass, speaking behind it, “You’re hiding your ring from me.”

Alarmed, Cersei worked to keep her eyes from bulging. Had she really been doing that? She picked up her left hand, only then realizing that it was kept out of view. That heavy ring had been weighing her down for two years and felt fused to her finger. There was no hiding her unfortunate connection to Robert, and it was ridiculous to think that she’d been trying to, however subconsciously.

Jaime didn’t let up, using her startled state to his advantage. “ _And_ the fact that at the beginning of this conversation you were a good three feet away, and now you’re close enough that I can smell your perfume, tells me you’re just as anxious to as I am. I bet if I,” he adjusted his positioning. “Slid my hand further under my arm, and a little to the side, just a quarter of an inch, so no one would see, my fingertips could touch your tit.” It was then that his smile truly started to drip with sin. His voice grew husky as he asked, “Should I try? Hmm?”

She paused, looking around for the watchful eyes she’d grown accustomed to. Predictably, they were distracted and she smiled back at him, daring him to risk it.

He took no time doing just as he described. His hot palm warming and massing the breast it could reach. Cersei kept her arms up on the counter, fingers playing with the rim of her glass as a stranger fondled her, running the pads of his fingers over her nipple in a torturous tattoo.

Jaime turned his head and promised, “I’m definitely going to fuck you.”

The wanton part of her suddenly throbbed to moan out loud that  _yes,_ he would. She wanted nothing more in that moment. The more rational side to her finally felt like perhaps she wasn’t as willing to die as she was before to avoid Robert’s heavy hand. She breathed loud enough for Jaime to take pleasure as she teased, “You can try.”

“FUCKING LANNISTER!” Robert’s voice boomed from the doorway.

Cersei’s blood ran cold, her breath catching as she wondered what he’d seen. Jaime eyed her closely, his smile still in place, though his brow furrowed. He whispered, “Him, huh?”

She stared back at him, trying to say a million things with only one look. Yes, Robert was her husband. No, she didn’t love him. Yes, he was cruel. No, Jaime couldn’t save her from him. Yes, she wanted him to. No, she’d never escape. Yes, she would fuck Jaime regardless if she could. No, she couldn’t risk it so easily as he. His smile stayed in place as he projected his voice, “I was told there was a meeting here.”

“It’d be nice if I were told,” Ned brooded beside Robert.

Robert ignored his friend to cast doubt, “So you decided to talk up my wife instead of attend it?”

A blonde midget--no, dwarf, (Cersei has been corrected) appeared and sighed, “Focus, Jaime.”

Jaime said nothing, nor did he make as if to move away from her. Feeling the need to defend herself, she turned quickly. “It’s not like--”

Robert waved her off. “Can it, Cersei.”

Mortified, she turned into her drink, glancing quickly at Jaime to see his reaction. He remained unmoved, smiling back at both Baratheon and Stark. It was as if their moment together had never happened.

But it so very much had.

Cersei grit her teeth and promised herself that it hadn't been her imagination. Jaime Lannister, sexy as hell and new head to the Lannister family was interested in her. In their short conversation, he seemed to value her more than Robert ever had. It was jarring to go from such a steamy moment to such a frosty one.

“And now I have your name,” Jaime teased out of the side of his smile.

Her face lifted at the sound of his voice, speaking only to her. Cersei was careful not to let it show any longer than necessary as she listened to him project his voice again, “I was merely asking a wife where her husband was.”

“Likely,” Robert pursed his lips. “Well, come on then!” He gestured for Jaime to follow and he and Ned Stark turned back towards the room. The little person remained, crossing his arms over his chest in disapproval of his brother's meandering.

Cersei remained still, too embarrassed to face Jaime, to let him see her so weak. Her golden hair shielded her from view, the caustic scent of alcohol filled her nostrils as she hovered her face, numb with the effects of it over her glass.

To her surprise, she felt her hair lift over her shoulder exposing her face. Cersei glanced up to see the same cocky smile that had flirted with her before. He flashed her his canine again as he promised, “I guess I know my target now,  _Cersei_.”

Before she knew what she was doing, her hand shot out to catch his arm. “I’m interested.”

“I know,” he chuckled.

She could have smacked him for his presumption, but it didn’t undermine her desire in the slightest. As young and self-confident as he was, Cersei highly doubted he’d ever be successful at actually killing Robert Baratheon. “But you don’t have to kill my husband to have me.”

He raised an eyebrow at her.

She looked down at the gun tucked in his belt. Robert would never allow her to touch a weapon--ever. “You just have to teach me how to shoot.”

“You don’t know how?” He asked in disbelief. “But you head a family…”

No. Robert did. There was no partnership. She thought of Catelyn Stark for a moment. Did she know how to fire a gun? She pictured good ol’ Ned. Of course he’d make sure his wife knew how to shoot. She wouldn’t be surprised if the man taught his kids as soon as they were old enough. Again, she felt embarrassed. “Robert doesn’t allow me to carry.”

All of a sudden, the other Lannister, the little person exclaimed from the door, “Jaime? What the fuck? Are you coming?”

Jaime laughed, “Of course!” He whispered to her, “It’s a date. My man Kevan will get in touch with you regarding the details.”

She released her grip, nodding almost absently as she watched him walk away. For the first time since she’d left her parent’s house, she felt excitement bubble inside. Jaime Lannister was going to teach her how to shoot. Robert Baratheon was in for a rude awakening when he least expected it, and the days of dabbing foundation over swollen cheekbones were coming to a close. If it meant she got to experience Jaime’s affection in the meantime, then that was an added benefit to the situation.

One thing had occurred to her, though not until much later. His eyes. What color were they? Whenever she fantasized about a man when she was younger, she always thought of their hair, their smile, and their eyes. She hadn’t once noticed his.

She had been avoiding them.

Cersei felt a lump grow in her throat as she wondered when the last time she’d looked a man in the eye was.  _Fuck you, Robert! I can’t wait to kill you_ , she growled in her brain, silently consoling herself with vengeance and the memory of Jaime Lannister’s cocky smile and brazen hands.

 

 


	2. Naturals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What was it about this woman that stole every ounce of his attention, filling him with intent?

   

 

“You’re a natural,” Jaime promised, leering at the perky ass in front of him, rather than look at the paper target retracting back towards them.  

Catching his misdirected attention, Cersei gave him warning. “I’d believe you more if you were actually watching my form.”

“Trust me, I am.” Jaime flashed her a smile, brushing one of her long golden locks over her shoulder.

“Ugh.” Cersei rolled her eyes and set the gun down on the counter, pulling away.

Shit.

Jaime caught her wrist. “Don’t go. Please.” He let go quickly and held up both hands. “I’ll be good.”

“Remind me again why I should stay.”

 _Because I desperately want to fuck you, and I’ll make it worth your while._ “Because your lesson’s not over.”

She scoffed.

Jaime reached for her arm again, his fingers barely gripping as he pulled her closer to him, allowing his other hand to find purchase on her hip. “If you’d like me to apologize for voicing my appreciation of a beautiful woman, I will.” He leaned into her shoulder. “I won’t mean it, but I’ll say it. For you.”

Cersei turned her head to catch sight of him out of the corner of her eye. It excited him to stand behind her, more so to watch her notice such positioning. Her sarcastic words, “How generous,” hinted that she may not have appreciated their stance as much as he, but the goosebumps on her arms said otherwise.

Her tenacity made him chuckle. “Oh, Cersei. I’ll tell you whatever lie you’d like. Just keep looking at me that way.”

Too above petty flirtations, she didn’t play into his attempts. Instead, she picked the gun up off the table and resumed their lesson. “Tell me again why it’s ‘squeeze’ and not ‘pull’?”

He was surprised she didn’t try to shake his hand from her hip when she turned, so he allowed it to follow her motion. It was too natural to sidle up behind her, and let his other hand find her other hip. “May I kiss you?”

“Answer my question first.”

He leaned into her, his grin pressing against her shoulder as he complied. “Pull.”

“What?”

“ _Pull_ the trigger.”

He could feel her pause, trying to make sense of his direction, it being to do exactly what so many said not to. Jaime thought people learned best from error, and decided to offer her the opportunity. She drew a breath before the gun fired with a loud bang, her shoulder bumping back into his nose. “Ow,” he groaned behind her and pecked the offending shoulder blade a quick kiss before he rubbed his nose.

“What the hell?” Cersei asked curiously. “I don’t think I hit the target at all this time.”

Jaime’s voice was muffled behind his hand as he stepped to her side. “That’s because you tipped the barrel.” He pulled his own gun from it’s holster. “Pulling is too much force, tips the barrel and fucks up your aim.” Jaime turned his head and closed one eye as he pointed toward the target. “When you squeeze, it’s gentle, it’s steady, it’s-” The gun fired, bullseye. He opened both eyes and grinned proudly at her. “ _Precise_.”

Cersei raised a brow at him.

Her skepticism was adorable and he fought to keep her body in his periphery. “If you’d like some help holding your piece while you find the right feel for your squeeze, I’m happy to assist.”  

“And let your erection bruise my ass the entire time?” She laughed. “No thanks.”

Unable to stifle his own sense of humor, he asked. “Worried it’s too big for you?”

“Alright, fine,” she sighed and set the pistol down again.

Jaime barely had a chance to wonder what she meant before she was on him. Her arms hooked around his neck, lips pressed to his, tongue taking advantage of his surprise. She smelled of menthol cigarettes and expensive red wine, and tasted of something more than both but not enough of either. His eyes opened to see hers staring back at him, not lost in the kiss, but instead clearly hoping to lose him.

 _Good luck with that,_ Jaime thought to himself, bringing his hand to the back of her head. He closed his eyes, knowing he could convince her to follow his lead. His tongue chased her taste as he twisted his head to devour her more. Cersei breathed through her nose, exhaling hot against his cheek, unwilling to break their connection, not even for air.

It was her pelvis that found his first, rubbing against the erection she’d been pretending she didn’t want just moments before. He smirked against her mouth, thinking a silent, _I told you so_.

Jaime may have only been nineteen, but with his name and pedigree alone, not to mention his looks, he’d had enough pussy to drown in. All shapes, sizes, and inclinations. A pretty girl with an hourglass figure and pouty lips was as easy to come by as a shot of liquid cocaine (Jagermeister and Goldschlager), and he was often thirsty for both.

Blonde, brunette, full-bush, or bare. Double jointed or simply submissive. It didn’t matter. Each cunt served its purpose and was easily discarded shortly after use. It only got worse once his father, Tywin passed. Jaime merely had to snap his fingers and the girls followed, he didn’t even look at them anymore.

Except for Cersei _Baratheon_.

There was something about the blonde who sat at the bar all alone with the hardened expression of a jaded woman twice her age. Her sadness called to him and once the jagged words shot from her mouth, her anger appealed to him even more. Jaime knew a thing or two about sadness and anger.

Until he spotted her, he’d been convinced no woman could feel the things that he felt. Therefore, he never felt capable of any sort of connection with a woman that lasted past the curl of toes and prayer for death, however small. It wasn’t their fault that they did what they’d learned to do. Simpering and bowing before him, they remained thankful for any drop of cum he drizzled down their throats. They did not talk back, reject, or underestimate him.

Cersei had done all of the above in the span of fifteen minutes. And he was quite certain that if he broke from her kiss and walked out, she’d easily go on with her life as if she hadn’t gone through the trouble of a clandestined meeting, whereas he’d be haunted by the _what if_ forever.

Jaime cupped one breast, appreciating the weight of it in his hand as his thumb searched for a pebbled nipple to graze. Tyrion had warned him not to screw married women, especially _that_ married woman. But fuck if she didn’t feel great against him, like two puzzle pieces fitting together, and they hadn’t even taken their clothes off yet. Each bend and dip of her body caught on and landed against each ridge and plane of his.

She moaned first.

He would later take pride in that and tease her with it, but right then it broke another lock on his reserve and he backed her against the counter, the hand behind her head traveling all the way down to her ass, greedily grabbing and squeezing. It was unnatural how good she felt. Another moan emitted from her and he trailed kisses down her throat, the bitter taste of makeup powdering his lips.

Who puts makeup on their neck?

Women hiding hickies from other lovers, of course. Trying not let it hinder him, he dipped his head lower, his teeth grazing over her clavicle. She shivered at that and his hands found the back of her thighs, lifting. “Oompf,” she groaned into his mouth when he set her on the counter and he quickly realized he’d set her on their guns. He swiped his hand under her to clear the way, but she was already on it, their fingers brushing over each other as they pushed the gunmetal away.

“ _Oh, fuck_ ,” she exclaimed as he yarded her skirt up.

He smirked against her chest, reaching between her legs. “That’s kind of the point.”

His fingers flew to her panties, burrowing beneath the elastic to find the slick flesh hidden within. Jaime knew it was best to savor a good fuck, but there was something about her that rushed him. An urgency he hadn't felt before told him every minute he wasn't inside her, he risked her change of mind. Pride and vanity told him to slow down, show her just how blessed she was to have his interest, but the primal need to lose sight of himself within her depths was too great.

She was wet and tight around his two probing fingers, singing sounds of pleasure he was certain were real. At least, he hoped they were. It wasn’t until he’d unbuckled his pants and pulled the zipper down that his fear was validated.

“Stop,” she groaned.

“Wha?” Jaime panted, not wanting to hear correctly.

Cersei shook her head and pushed him back. “We shouldn’t.”

Jaime took himself in hand. Irritation dripped from his lips, not bothering to blink away the lust from his eyes. “Hiding behind your marriage? I wouldn’t have expected that from you.”

She looked away, loose strands of hair falling over her shoulder. “Yeah, well...just be glad I stopped you now.”

“Why?” Jaime gave himself a tug. “Judging by how ready you were for me, you want it just as much as I do.”

“We’ll survive.” She straightened her skirt and hopped down off the counter.

Jaime started to tuck himself back in his pants, hating everything within eyesight. It was petulant but he couldn’t stop himself from pointing out, “You started it.”

“I did,” she admitted, schooling her face. “I figured it best to get it out of the way.”

 _“Get it out of the way?_ ” He spat back at her, unable to remember the last time he’d ever felt so offended. “Bullshit.”

She avoided his eyes as she walked for the door. “I’m not naive. You want me, I wanted to learn how to shoot. Simple exchange. I said so when we met, or do you not remember me telling you how you could have me?”

He hadn’t thought of it like that, as a _simple exchange_. It cheapened it, cheapened him. He spit sour words from his mouth, “So you’re a whore, then.” Judging by the fact that she’d stopped them, she was horrible one.

Her hand held the doorknob as she sighed, “Sure.”

That was strange. It didn’t seem like the woman he’d been fascinated by to just give in. There was something more to the situation and Jaime was determined to find out. He took large strides forward, and laid his palm flat on the door above her head, shutting it.

She whirled around, glaring at him. There she was, the woman he’d met, wildfire poorly banked and ready to spread. Before she could issue the threat he saw on the tip of her tongue, he asked, “Why did you really stop things? Honestly.”

“You really want to know?” She growled through her teeth. “Huh?”

Jaime stared back into her eyes, green flames that promised to consume him until he was nothing more but ash beneath her feet. His dick twitched in his pants at the morbid realization that should he die staring back into those eyes, whatever befell him would have been worth it. He didn’t voice his answer, only held her gaze, too caught by his own emotion.

She didn’t back down, hatred rolling off her in hot waves. “Robert gave me chlamydia again.”

Jaime reflexively glanced down to his hand, to the fingers that had pet and pressed her.

“Yeah, you’re going to want to wash that,” she glowered.

“You were going to fuck me anyway?” He asked incredulously. No one dared give him vd, not even no-name bitches that rode his dick in vip lounges.

Cersei turned back around and pulled on the doorknob. When he kept his hand firmly in place, not letting her go, she sighed, “I _did_ stop you.”

Ignoring her, he kept the questions coming. “Is that why you agreed to meet with me? To _infect_ me?”

“No.”

It was a lie. It had to be. She’d already said she anticipated a trade. Her big green eyes blinked back at him, not innocent, but somehow not entirely guilty. “I agreed to meet you because I wanted to learn how to shoot.”

Jaime thought of the way she looked back at the Falcon’s Nest, the edge to her when she eyed his gun and told him what she wanted. She was guilty of something, alright, but he wasn’t sure what. “Why so eager to learn? Someone you looking to off?”

Her glare turned frosty, her expression grim. Jaime squinted, trying to read the sudden change in demeanor. It was as if she was staring through him, a million miles away, running for her life. The heat he’d felt from her was gone, replaced by a chill that left him feeling cold and lonely even though they stood mere inches apart.

She may have been Robert Baratheon’s wife, and Tyrion may have warned him to keep to himself, but she was a siren calling for him. Whether she knew it or not, her solemnity drew him to her, and he was helpless to resist. Jaime stared at her lips, the gloss having worn off from their previous kiss, but the color stain still remained. How perfect. He’d stripped her of one layer, only to find the next firmly in place.

His mouth was on hers, and the fact that he hadn’t remembered leaning in to get there, didn’t bother him a bit. Her hands came up to his chest, feeling him through his shirt as his lips backed her head against the door. Cersei moaned through their kiss, twisting and insisting. Jaime smiled as his hands moved to her ass again, gripping and lifting. Her legs instinctively wrapped around him, her core pressing against the painful bulge in his pants.

She tore her lips from his. “We can’t-”

Jaime reached in his back pocket and pulled his wallet free, pushing it into her hands. He brought his lips to her neck again, forgetting about the foundation she’d caked herself in. Determined to strip her of it, he licked through the bitter taste, kissing as he spoke. “There’s a condom in there.”

“Of course there is,” she laughed.

The lilt in her voice as he pinned her against the door, grinding through frustrating fabric, was nothing short of intoxicating. He strove for full-blown inebriation when he reached down and freed his cock from his pants again. “You sure about this?” She asked from behind his earlobe.

No.

Yes.

Fuck.

“You?” The material of her dress scraped the sensitive underside of his shaft.

She shook her head against his. “No.”

His knees weakened, bending at the hint she might stop them _again_ . Jaime almost pulled from her but stalled. Fuck stopping. Fuck leaving. If she wanted the moment to die, she’d have to push him away and kill it first. Let her actions match her words, he’d grant her no such reprieve. Her breath warmed his neck, pouring a confession. “And _yes_.”

There was a crinkling in his ear and he knew she was tearing into the condom wrapper with her teeth, her other hand fisting his hair. Jaime’s whole body felt like a raw nerve, pulsing, throbbing, aching for entrance to hers. Cersei nipped his jaw and touched the lubricated rubber to the tip of his cock. The sensation alone made his hips buck in anticipation. Her nimble fingers rolling the condom down his length pulled a throaty moan from deep within.

As soon as her fingertips landed against his base, he was grabbing her underwear and yanking them aside to impale her. “No!” She growled and slid off him.

Confusion took residence in him for only a fraction of a second before she turned around to face the closed door and hiked up her skirt. She pulled her panties down as she plead, “Fuck me from behind?”

It was an easy enough request to fulfill. The creamy white globes, accented by a single beauty mark on the top right side would look stunning surrounding his red-latex covered cock. “Yeah,” he agreed, reaching down to guide himself to her opening. He teased the outside, surprised when she pushed off the door and sunk back on him.

His hands flew to her hips, holding her as he thrust forward, unable to remain still in the sensation of such intimate suffocation. She groaned as he pressed into her again and he couldn’t resist the urge to lean forward and kiss her shoulder. “You feel good,” he complimented.

“Mm, so do you,” she agreed.

Jaime’s hands slid around to her flat stomach, and traveled up to her breasts, massaging them over her dress before he pulled the stretchy material down to expose them. Though they were rather large, they were perky enough to manage without a bra, a benefit that Jaime took advantage of. He cupped and lifted them, rolling her nipples between his thumb and forefingers. “Your tits are perfect,” he praised.

Cersei grinned over her shoulder. “Robert bought them for me.” Mention of her husband irritated more than it should have. She rose to her tiptoes, lifting her ass to better slide back down his cock. “Paid extra to have them put under the muscle so I can still breastfeed like a good broodmare.” There was venom in her voice as she raised one arm, and point to a small curved line by her armpit. “See?”

He saw.

More than he wanted.

His grip on her tightened as he moved within her, lowering his head to peck a kiss to the incision scar. Though it had long healed-over, it was clear it still hurt her. Fucking wives and laughing at their husbands had never bothered Jaime before. Just the mention of Robert grated and the idea that the beautiful creature currently taking his cock, was destined to birth fat Robert brats only further offended. He grabbed her hips again, adding a little extra force to his thrusts as he ordered, “Don’t talk about him. Not now.”

“Mm, okay Baby. He doesn’t exist,” she lied and he couldn’t have been more grateful for it. One of her hands slid down to the cleft between her legs and he felt her tighten around him as she plucked at her own strings. “Fuck me harder!”

His pants shimmied down his thighs to his knees and sat there bunched up, his ass flexing with each rock back and forth on the balls of his feet. It was a merciless rhythm, but it felt natural and judging by the way she groaned through gritted teeth as she slammed her ass back on him just as hard as he pumped into her, it was perfect.

Wanting to add to the pleasure, he let his hand rake up the length of her spine and give her shoulder a quick squeeze before he reached around and held her throat. The slightest amount of pressure was known to amplify the intensity of orgasm tenfold.

She stilled, a tremor rolling through her as she whimpered. Jaime’s brow furrowed as he studied her. “What’s wrong?”

“Let go of me,” she gasped. Her voice caught, “ _Please._ ”

Both hands flew in the air as Jaime felt himself soften a little. “Is everything alright?” He started to pull free from her as he asked, “What’s wrong?”

Cersei’s arm reached back, catching him and holding him to her. She gave him a little flex and squeeze as she reached for one of his hands, bringing it to her hip again.

“We can stop,” he offered, not sure what to do.

She shook her head. “No. It’s fine.”

His hips rocked tentatively. “You certain?”

“Yeah,” she nodded and wiped away a tear. “I just don’t like that, okay?”

“Okay.”

She looked back at him over her shoulder. “You can hold me however you like, just not like that. Okay?”

He eyed her, knowing he crossed a line, and not quite sure how to find his way back over it. “Alright.”

“Good,” she forced a smile. “Keep fucking me then.” She reached for his hand and brought it around to her belly, effectively pulling him closer to her as she did.

Jaime accepted her small gesture of intimacy and wrapped his other arm around her, to hold her close. She hadn’t let her fingers find her nub again, so he ventured there himself, wanting to bring her enough pleasure to clear her mind of his trespass.

It wasn’t long before he thought the veins would burst from his neck and he’d fall backward from the ecstacy of friction spent. Judging by the way her body still milked his erection long after she’d cried out, she was enjoying the aftershock herself.

It was the oddest thing. Jaime didn’t want to break away from her. He knew he should, lest he compromise the thin barrier of protection they’d been using. Male pride would tell him to give her a firm slap on the ass and say, _Good Game!_ It wasn’t as if he hadn’t delivered that line to some rather unfortunate women in the past…

“I should go,” she breathed. “Pilates will be over any minute.”

“Pilates?”

“Where Robert thinks I am,” she explained as she crouched down to grip her underwear and pull them back up.

“Your instructor won’t talk?” Jaime asked, pulling the condom from him and looking for a bin to throw it in.

“Not if he values his life,” Cersei chuckled. She smoothed her skirt down and began fixing her breasts back into the neckline of her dress. “If he talks, I’ll just tell Robert that he fucked me too.”

He didn’t mean to actually ask it aloud. “Did he?”

She shrugged. “Once upon a time.”

“Is it over?”

“It never really began.” She gave him a sheepish grin and bit her lip. “It was was just a couple times.”

Jaime tucked himself back in his pants, knowing he’d need a thorough wash. He had the sudden urge to ask her where her pilates class was so that he might meet this guy, but pushed the thought from his head. What did he care who she fucked in the past? That was then and this was now. Now looked pretty promising. “We should do that again some time.”

She smiled. “Maybe.”

“When are you done with the antibiotic?” Jaime was versed enough in the basics of sexual health to know that chlamydia was one of the ones that could be cured.

“Six more days.”

“Then I vote,” he paused to lean in and give her a kiss. She allowed it, turning in his arms and opening to him. Jaime caught her lip in his teeth as he pulled away, teasing. “That we have another lesson in six days.”

A cloud set over her, her brow wrinkling as she looked back at him. The ease with which she’d been playing with him had left and she looked as hard and bitter as she tended to. “Maybe,” she responded noncommittally.

Jaime claimed her lips again, as if his kiss held enough power to pull her from whatever edge she paced and bring her back to what they’d just secretly shared. Her hand came up to his cheek and she gently broke their kiss. He wanted to say something, but what he wasn’t sure of. She gave him a small smile, that he knew was worn with effort, before she pushed him back and opened the door behind her.

She was already out it and down the hall before Jaime could protest. He should have been pleased with himself, excited by what he’d just gotten away with. Instead, he was too struck by the realization of something so subtle that he’d missed it when it was right in front of him. The makeup he’d made his mission to lick clean from her neck hadn’t hidden red broken blood vessels from overzealous lovers, but instead the yellow and purple fingerprints of a hateful husband.

Tyrion’s voice sounded in his head, _Don’t mess with marriages_.

Cersei’s wildfire eyes filled his vision, silently declaring, _I don’t need saving._

And yet, all Jaime wanted to do was speed over to Robert Baratheon’s mansion, pump a clip in his fat fucking face, and take his wife for his own.

The idea of it startled him. Since when had he craved such commitment? He wasn’t some emotional virgin proposing to the first disease-laden snatch he spilled in. What was it about this woman that stole every ounce of his attention, filling him with intent? He drew a deep calming breath.

Six days.

In six days he’d see her again, and have his fill of her, or at least come closer to finding out why he couldn’t seem to.


	3. Poolside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She stared down at him, taking in his features and actually thought for a second that she could see some lion blood in him.

 

 

 

Six days had come and gone, and then at least six more. There hadn’t been another lesson or even a plan for one. Any and all attempt on the young buck’s part was staunchly declined in the form of a frosty shoulder.

Cersei carried her glass of wine over to the side of the pool, setting it down carefully as she moved to sit on the edge. The pack of smokes she’d tucked in the waistband of her bikini jabbed her in the gut and she leaned back to pull them free. The pool looked so beautiful lit up at night, due in part to its secluded location, she was sure. People always uglied things.

It wasn’t that she had lost interest in Jaime Lannister. He was young, hot, and made of old money. Not to mention, he was intriguing enough to keep her attention for a long time, and it wasn’t as if his physique hadn’t definitely appealed to her baser self. It was why she had him take her from behind--to avoid looking at him for any prolonged length of time. Sincere attraction was a liability she couldn’t risk, no matter how good he felt inside. And he did feel phenomenal. He radiated raw masculinity, all muscle and testosterone wrapped in a confident smile, that promised he feared no one and would kill anyone. By rights, she should have shied away from him for it. Robert had once been quite similar, handsome too--not nearly as handsome as Jaime, but that was hardly the point. Despite Jaime’s cocky exterior, he handled her with a finesse that promised he was different from the men she’d had before. Until…

Slapping the pack against the palm of her hand, Cersei thought for the thousandth time of the way he smelled, tasted, felt. Opening the pack and pulling a cigarette free, her mind wandered to the same places her hands had. His chest was strong and proud, warm under his shirt. Bringing the cigarette to her lips she remembered the taste of alcohol on his breath. He wasn’t drunk, that much was certain. Perhaps it was just enough to take the edge off.

The edge of meeting and fucking Robert Baratheon’s wife.

Cersei’s jaw clenched, her lips pursing around her cigarette as she brought the lighter up. She sucked on the filter, inhaling the flame just enough to affect the burn. Smoke tickled its way down her throat, blazing a path to her lungs. His fingers had done much the same, teasing her intimate flesh, until they too found her throat.  

Dipping her toes in the cool water, Cersei stared down at the french tips she’d had done earlier that day. There was a beautiful shade called, _Her Majesty’s Red_ on the display rack she passed over, knowing Robert wouldn’t allow it any more than he would the gold star glitter accents she’d secretly wanted too. He told her often that she had to look like his wife, not his whore.

He wanted a hot young model and once he had her, embarrassed by his primitive nature, he tried to hide it. He told her that she’d do well to pay attention to Catelyn Stark, follow her lead. Who wanted to look like that? There wasn’t a dash of life to the woman, aside from when she was around her children, or in more private moments with Ned--Cersei had caught them kissing in a hallway once. One would have thought they were all out fucking in the foyer with how severely Ned’s face flushed, and the unyielding rigidity of Catelyn’s indignant posture.

Cersei took another drag off her cigarette, feeling the calm caress of the water against her calves. At the range, in that shared private moment, her body responded to the trauma of a devastating grip, stilling her in the moment. Though, it wasn’t Jaime Lannister’s choke-hold that scared her, so much as the fact that she hadn’t recoiled from him immediately after.  

So attentive, so quick to adjust to her needs, to learn her limits and respect them. No. He was not another Robert--or any one of the countless men she’d snuck behind his back. Jaime stood out above the rest. That’s how feelings happened and she knew she had to cut them off at the knees. There was no room for Jaime in her life, or in Robert’s death. Taking comfort in the taste of her wine, bitter and dry, she appreciated that it offered no false promises, never disappointing.

The murmur of Robert carousing with his men inside grated her. Cersei reached to the chase lounge behind her, pulling the stereo remote off of it to turn up the volume and drown out the obnoxious sounds of men with more balls than brains.

She needed to stay focused, remember the weight of the gun in her hand, the squeeze of the trigger and why. Robert’s shocked and pained expression was one she fantasized about daily. How would he look with a bullet through his heart? In her sillier moments, she’d picture it through his teeth.

Jaime was a nice idea. But that’s all he could ever be. Closing her eyes, she’d let the tan blonde live there. She’d think of his cologne, the eyes she hadn’t dared look into at first and easily lost herself in after, the hard press of his body to hers. She could make any manner of want take life that way, and suffer no consequence. With the backdrop of her eyelids, Cersei projected any future she wanted. In reality, she would keep ignoring the little messages he left for her, the attempts made, and allow them the opportunity together in the safety of her mind.

“Got a light?”

Her eyes snapped open at the sound of the familiar voice. It was none other than the man in the flesh, standing on the other side of the pool. She blinked to test the mirage. When she opened them, he remained, smiling at her.

She glanced nervously over her shoulder to make sure neither Robert or his men had stepped outside to see her special visitor. “What are you doing here?” She hissed.

“I could ask you the same.”

“What?” She glared at him, trying not to let her gaze linger on his naked chest, or the low rise of his swim trunks. He looked absolutely delicious and she wondered whether or not he’d look even better in a speedo. If he were hers, she’d definitely have fun playing dress up with him. He had admitted upon introduction that he’d welcome the assistance in the fashion department.

Cersei stopped herself mid-train of thought, replaying the phrase, _if he were hers_ , in her head. It was dangerous to think that way, and she knew it. Jaime had to go. She had to get rid of him. “Robert decided we needed a vacation.”

Jaime strolled along the side of the pool, ripples of water reflecting on him. “Maybe I wanted a vacation too.”

“What a coincidence,” she noted sarcastically.

“Yes.” He grinned. “Though the best coincidence is yet to come.”

“Oh?” She glanced over her shoulder again.

Jaime’s smile never left his lips as his eyes followed hers. He was obviously assessing the potential threat inside as he spoke, “I happened to book the villa next to yours.”

“You’re right. That is quite the coincidence,” she glared.

He’d walked half way along the side of the pool before he crouched down to the edge and quietly slipped into the water. Cersei’s feet twitched restlessly, instinctively wanting to run from the shark swimming towards her. As he neared, he confessed through a predatory grin, “I’ve been thinking about you.”

Cersei took a drag off her cigarette, trying to mask her nerves. She wasn’t sure if they were due to the danger of discovery or his presence alone and the feelings it evoked. “You should learn to let go of things.”

“ _Things_ , yes. _People_ , not so much.” He waded closer, the water lapping over his shoulders as he moved.

She wouldn’t kid herself into thinking he was actually pursuing her seriously, but that was what it felt like. Feelings lied. He was cocky and arrogant in the bar because she was fresh meat, and he was kind to her at the range because he was getting what he wanted. Once he had it, he was supposed to have moved on, especially after almost two weeks with no word. Faced with the very real possibility that he was truly interested, Cersei did the only thing she could think to do: dismiss him. “It’s so annoying when guys get clingy after you toss them a pity fuck.”

Jaime gaped at her, the corners of his mouth upturned in amusement and surprise. “Pity fuck? Sorry to burst your bubble babe, but that was anything but.”

Cersei rolled her eyes, feeling herself tense as he came within arms reach. “Ha. You forget, I was there.”

“Oh, I definitely haven’t forgotten.”

His hand found her calf in the water and she nearly jumped out of her skin. “Robert could come out here at any moment,” she warned.

He shrugged. “Let him.” Jaime leaned forward, seeking her hand and tilting his head to catch her cigarette with his lips.

Reason told her to let go, let it dangle haphazardly from his mouth if necessary, sever the connection between them. Her hand refused to move, holding the cigarette to his lips for him. His hard chest pressed against her shins, his hands cupping the back of her legs as he inhaled. Jaime held her gaze as he let the smoke pour from his nostrils. “I have every right to be here.”

“No, you don’t,” she argued, weakly.

His thumb grazed the inside of her knee. “Shared use of the pool is part of the rental agreement for these adjoining villas.”

She sat higher than him and it was strange to have such an aerial view. His eyes seemed so much larger and brighter from above. They compelled her to lean further over the edge. There was a slight push, a nudge, and a drag to her legs, as he wheedled them wider. Her stomach did a small flip and she tried again to push him away. “Did you pick the one right next to me so you can listen to Robert fuck me all night?”

Jaime didn’t break eye contact, wedging his chest ever so slowly between her knees. “He’d croak under the strain.”

He hadn’t yet. Unfortunately.

“You make him sound ancient and he’s still in his twenties.” She wasn’t defending him out of some sense of honor or respect, but instead to goad Jaime into bragging more about just how fearless he was of Robert. It made her feel strong by association, however covert.

“And a fat drunk,” he countered, sliding his palms from calves to thighs. “He can’t fuck anything _all night_ , not even his own hand.”

How true that was.

A light chuckle escaped her lips, the tension easing from her as it did. He laughed with her, using the cover of it to coax her legs further apart and open to him. As if she hadn’t noticed. There wasn’t a cubic inch of her body that wasn’t fully aware of Jaime Lannister’s increasing proximity.

It would have been safer to call him out on it, reject and rebuff his advances. There was just something about him that sapped her willpower and had her toeing a dangerous line. It was as if she were a lonely house with nothing but a single dimly lit lamp to light the way, enough illumination to get by, no more than necessary. Jaime thought nothing of hopping her no-trespassing fence, marching up the secluded path, banging on the front door, and unabashedly peering in the windows to see if she were hiding. The minute they spotted each other, their eyes meeting, electricity flowed, lighting everything up like the Sept of Baelor. The feel of his flesh grazing past hers, to whatever degree of impropriety, was an exhilaration she’d never felt before and wasn’t certain she could deny herself.

The laughing faded, and the smile faltered, his eyes narrowing as he looked down to her groin. Cersei glanced down quickly, worried there may be a stray hair she was sure she’d waxed away, poking out the side of her bikini. It was the only possible reason she could conceive of for why his demeanor would shift so sternly.

Her heart beat loud in her ears when she realized what he was looking at. It was a tattoo, two inches in diameter and scrawled on the inside of her left thigh, high enough for no one else to notice but the woman who lived with it. Prior to Jaime taking her from behind, her dress obstructed his view of her most private of places. This was his first time seeing it.

None of the other men she’d been with had looked so disgruntled by it. Then again, they probably got off on fucking Robert Baratheon’s bride. Seeing _Baratheon_ branded in thick black cursive only enhanced the thrill for them.

It wasn’t titillation that Jaime wore on his face, but instead a mixture of pity and anger. Cersei felt naked under such judgement and shifted a little on the side of the pool, both wanting to recoil and refusing to allow herself to. “What’s the matter? Not a fan of what you found?” She spat at him.

“Not particularly,” he answered honestly, letting his hand slide up her leg to the ink.

“Good thing you don’t have to look.” Cersei snapped her legs closed, unintentionally trapping his hands between her thighs.

She could feel him look at her, willing her to turn her head and meet his eye. His hands moved, shifting uncomfortably, trapped between her thighs. Cersei considered loosening her grip to allow him use of his hands, but decided against it. Jaime only turned that to his advantage, using what little leeway she allowed to slide his hand up further. “It is a weak man who beats a woman.” His fingertip pressed into the long-healed cigarette burn that sat in the center of the letter O. “That _scars_ her.”

She didn't know why she felt the need to clarify, but she did. “That wasn’t him.” Robert was awful, but she wasn't without impurity. The sooner Jaime realized she wasn’t some innocent damsel in distress from the fairytales, the less likely he’d succumb to the savior complex that motivated him. “I mean, the tattoo was, but the burn was me.”

Memory of the two broken ribs she’d suffered for besmirching Robert’s mark on her, brought her to another place. Her legs slackened and the cigarette she’d forgotten in her hand burnt down to her fingers, making her hiss and drop it in the pool. Jaime said nothing, only reached for her hand and kissed the back of her fingers. Cersei was grateful he closed his eyes when he did, unsure of how to respond to such a gentle gesture. The liberty he took, however, didn’t stop there. As soon as he released her hand, he took advantage of her now open legs to move further forward and lean down.

Panic rose in her throat as she stared at his head hovering over her lap. What was he doing? Number one: Men didn’t do that. The landscaper had once, and it was strange and too focused on all the wrong areas. Number two: He had to be seriously fucked in the brain to think that she was feeling sexy right at that moment. And, number three: She was wearing a bathing suit, so there was that. There was no way that Jaime Lannister intended to do _that_ …

His lips tickled over her thigh and she relief washed over her, and then immediately after, an odd sense of regret. Jaime would have felt different from the landscaper. Somewhere inside, where she couldn't explain, she knew it to be as true.

“What are you thinking?”

His question startled her. Guilty, she shook her head and turned the question on him, “I was just wondering what you were thinking.”

He smiled up at her, and she couldn’t help but notice that he hadn’t retreated once he’d leant in, his chest snuggled between her thighs. And what a chest it was, sculpted from granite, so smooth to the touch, yet so solid and implacable. It was the exact opposite from Robert’s pudge and she mused that should anyone dare to punch Jaime, their hand would break against the unyielding force of such muscle and definition.

“I was thinking that if someone had done that to me, branded me like cattle, I’d want to make the mark my own too.”

A tear welled in her eye and she furiously blinked it away, turning to take a sip from her glass. He understood. He actually understood. It wasn’t about harming herself, or any release she might have gotten from it. The day she got the tattoo, Robert looming over her and laughing with his friends about how he’d make sure she was loyal, she knew she needed to undermine it, take a part of herself back from him. She was smoking a cigarette in the bathroom when she peeled away the bandage to look at the artist’s handiwork. For what felt like forever, she was unable to take her eyes off of it, and her hand came down almost of its own accord. She bit into her other hand to stifle her cries as her flesh seared. When she couldn’t bear the pain anymore, she pulled the cigarette from her leg and covered her crime with the bandage, praying it would get infected and mar the tattoo more.

“And then I was thinking,” Jaime interrupted her memory, his hand on her thigh inching forward to touch the ink again. “Cover-ups can be challenging but if executed well, worth it.”

“Cover-ups?”

Jaime smiled, letting his fingers find more purchase over the offending mark. “Tattoos that cover other tattoos. Something could be written or drawn over it.”

Raucous laughter emanated from inside the villa and Cersei remembered her fear. “Robert would never allow it.”

“You’re not property,” Jaime insisted, letting his other hand, wet from the pool travel her other leg. “You may be his wife, but you are your own person.”

“What is it to you?” She was growing agitated with his naive idealistic view. It was easy for him to say that. He was head to the Lannister family--one of the five ruling families. Robert had money and territory, Jaime had money and an old name that bought loyalty. Robert also had Ned Stark of the north and with Ned Stark came Catelyn. With Catelyn came her sister Lysa and her husband Jon Aryn of the east. The Tyrells were always a shifty bunch, but Robert always seemed to get along with them. Though, it was a time of peace and who knew what real conflict would bring.

What was she thinking?!

In the span of seconds, Cersei had actually plotted out the politics involved should Jaime and Robert go toe to toe. She was fantasizing again and she needed to stop. It would only get her and Jaime hurt. Robert was too rooted in the city, and Jaime for as much courage as he had, was still too new to the way of things.

“I’ve enjoyed your company.”

She scowled at his words and bit back, “Most men do.”

The smile left his eyes and she regretted the quip. “What would you cover it with?” She asked by way of peace-offering.

As quickly as the happiness had left him, it returned. “Sometimes it’s a word or a picture. You’ve probably had enough of words though. Maybe a symbol?”

“A symbol?” Her brow raised. “What kind of symbol?”

Jaime smiled up at her and said, “I see lots of women with tattoos of their astrological sign. Maybe that? What’s your sign?”

“Leo.”

He blinked at her a couple of times and then chuckled.

“What?” She glanced over her shoulder, worried his laugh was too loud. “What’s so funny?”

“Me too. I’m a leo too.” He used his hold on her to leverage himself up. Cersei naturally leaned down, letting her lips meet his. It was the oddest thing, the kiss. It wasn’t a seduction. He moved to her and she just somehow knew to lean in. It was natural. When he pulled away, he grinned happily. “We’re lions.”

She stared down at him, taking in his features and actually thought for a second that she could see some lion blood in him. His canines flashed so prominently with each confident grin. Golden locks grown out enough to barely touch his shoulders, framed his face in layers and volume that much matched a true lion’s mane. Her inspection of him halted when she locked eyes with his. They had an absolute quality to them that demanded fealty and in exchange offered the protection of a just rule. Once she saw beyond his light and playful exterior, she could easily see the danger in him and though it should have scared her away, she found herself wanting him all the more for it.

Could she ever be his lioness?

She was in the middle of chiding herself for even daring to wonder when he rubbed his fingers over _Baratheon_ again and said, “You should get a lion tattooed over it.”

“Should I?” She asked, because she wasn’t sure what else to say. Her head was swimming with the presumptuous thoughts she was drowning in. Jaime was everything Robert wasn’t, and yet they both held such power and position. Where did she fit between these men?

“Mm,” Jaime answered leaning down again. “I bet they could make an eye out of this or something.” He kissed the self-inflicted injury and she started to wonder if he were trying to quietly claim it for his own somehow, with how attentive he was to it. He whispered into her flesh, “You should be able to choose what happens to your body. Lions are meant to be free.”

Before she could try to deflect his affection with a joke about him possibly using his astrological sign as an excuse to be a player, he turned his head and gently nipped her womanhood through the bathing suit. She gasped in surprise and excitement, listening to him chuckle between her legs before pressing a kiss to the area under attack.

“I’m going to assume after all this time, you’re all cleared up down here?” He half asked, half insisted through the bawdy grin she knew was there because she could see his cheeks lifting. She nodded her head, not thinking for a moment that he couldn’t see her response. He rubbed his face against her, burrowing into the material as he inhaled. “I hope you are,” he purred. “You smell so good. I want to taste you.”

“Yeah,” she finally found the voice to pair with her response. Whether it was to his original question or some sort of permission, she wasn’t sure. Reason was slipping as the needs of her body prevailed.

“Good,” he almost growled as his fingers pulled her swimsuit to the side. His mouth was on tender flesh as soon as it landed, and she almost fell backward from the shock of it.

His lips buried beneath hers, his tongue rounding the embankment while she gasped for air. “ _Jaime_ ,” she moaned for him to stop.

The Lannister Lion only took it as encouragement and added suction to his work. This was nothing like what the landscaper had done. Bracing herself, Cersei’s feet flattened against the pool wall and without even realizing it, she was lifting her ass up off the edge and further into his mouth, tilting this way and that.

He chuckled into her and used his hold on her thighs to push her back down to sitting. He pulled away for a second and eyed her doubtfully. “No one’s done this for you before?”

“Once,” she admitted. “It wasn’t anything to write home about.” It was pretty amazing, actually, but only because she’d never felt anything like it before. In the singular minute that Jaime touched his tongue to her, however, it far outweighed what she’d had before.

He seemed to take some pleasure in her words. “Here,” he said, reaching for her arms. “Hold my hair. If you need me to go right or left, just tug me that way.”

Cersei didn’t know what to say, her hands under his as he brought them to his head. His hair was coarse as mens typically was, but full and felt good threaded between her fingers. He gave her a wink before he started to lower his head. A sudden bout of nerves hit her and she questioned, “Don’t you know what to do? Why do you need me to tell you?”

“I don’t know your body yet,” he admitted and pulled her bikini to the side again.

She should have been lost in the pleasure his mouth brought, but instead she was caught on a single word. _Yet_. There was so much meaning behind it and she clung to it as hard as she did his hair. Her grip tightened to either side, following the tingle they chased--together. She glanced down at the bed of blonde between her legs, lapping her up and trembled at the sight. Jaime was a fifty foot drop in her stomach, a betting race in her heart, and a liable fuck to her brain. Cheating on Robert had its danger, but doing so with someone who affected her like this was reckless.

He followed her lead, his hands keeping her thighs from closing and her ass from lifting again. The warm wetness he encouraged and offered was becoming too much to bear and she begged on a whimper, “ _I wanna fuck you._ ”

She could feel him smile against her, fingertips at her opening played and stretched before plunging. “ _Ung!_ ” She groaned and started pulling his head forward rather than just to either side. Jaime pushed his fingers deeper each time she pulled him harder against herself, taking her further than she could insist.

Everything around her disappeared, all sense but touch was subdued by the overriding ache he nurtured. The stir low in her belly tightened before a wave of heat rushed throughout and dampened her brow. Just when the sensation was too much, and silence stole the exclamation from her, she heard Robert’s booming voice, “There you are!”

The hair stood on the back of her neck as she silently pulsed around Jaime’s fingers, his mouth still sucking the overstimulated flesh beyond her folds. She forced her grip free of Jaime’s hair, a mix of pleasure and fear, the product of his attention. His head hadn’t lifted from her and she hissed down to him, “ _Stop_.”

She glanced over her shoulder to locate Robert shouting from the doorway. “I’ve been calling you!”

That was it? ‘I’ve been calling you?’ Had he not seen Jaime Lannister face-first in her lap? Apparently not, because if he had, they would both be dead. Cersei glanced down and realized that most of Jaime was hidden in the pool, his head obscured by her own frame. As long as she didn’t give him away, Robert would never know. Trying not to look as affected as she clearly was, Cersei cleared her throat and apologized. “Sorry, I mustn’t have heard.”

“Sorry?” Robert looked confused, and rightfully so. Cersei never apologized, ever. He squinted his eyes. “What game are you playing at?”

Sighing dramatically to cover her anxiety, she answered, “I’m not playing a game, Robert. I’ve got a headache and I didn’t hear you. What do you want?”

Robert scowled. “I’m going to bed.”

“Night,” she tossed over her shoulder.

Jaime pulled away from her enough to look up, careful not to move to either side, lest he lose his hiding spot. He whispered, “I want to see you again.”

She fought the urge to shake her head, and simply mouthed the word, _no_.

“You think you’re funny?” Cersei knew better than to answer a rhetorical question from Robert.

 _Yes_ , Jaime mouthed. He made a show of looking over at the neighboring villa, silently reminding her where he was staying.

“Get your ass in bed, now!” He barked.

Jaime replaced the fabric of her bikini, making her presentable again before he pecked another small flirtatious kiss through the material. His lips were loaded and Cersei was running out of time. Steeling herself to his affection, she reached out and gently nudged his head down so he’d know to duck. He dipped his head under when she rose from the side of the pool, grabbing her drink before turning towards Robert, shivering from what they’d just done.

“Jesus christ woman, how can you be cold? It’s fucking Sunspear!” He grabbed her by the jaw and peered accusingly at her. “You better not be getting sick.”

She stood in his grasp, praying he didn’t look back at the pool. She could see Jaime’s head watching out of the corner of her eye, and then her prayers shifted to him, that he wouldn’t rise up and go after Robert. Unarmed, wearing nothing but swim trunks, Jaime wouldn’t stand a chance against Robert, especially outnumbered with the Baratheon entourage just inside. “No, Robert.” She shook her head, avidly denying any illness. “It’s just the pool. The water is cold.”

“Then why the fuck were you in it?” He looked at her as if she were the stupidest person ever. “You’re worse than a child.”

She stifled the response that she was still technically one in the eyes of the law when he married her, thankful that he turned his back on her and crossed the threshold. Cersei followed close behind, her eyes flashing over to the pool as she did. Jaime stood dripping by the edge, looking poised to pounce. His eyes told her she didn’t have to leave, didn’t have to lay down and accept Robert haphazardly rutting into her. His lips thinned and she knew he wanted her, she need only go as far as the next door, should she want him in return.

As if it were a question.  

 

 


	4. Little Dove

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why did you marry Uncle Robert and not the prince?”

 

 

Cersei stared at the intricate wolf design carved into the tall wooden doors serving as entrance to the Stark estate, and tried in vain to ignore Robert’s chastising beside her. It was easier if she didn’t respond, his often finding even her acquiescence to be flippant. To be honest, it probably was. Even when she decided to bear the burden of submission, she always managed to share her level of disdain for it, either by a sharp glare or verbal barb.

Transparency was a weapon she could brandish openly. Eyeing the rather prominent fangs on the alpha wolf in the design, her thoughts drifted to Jaime’s canines, flashing with each grin. His smile was confident, dangerous, and pure aphrodisiac. The night she left him in the pool, she laid on her side next to Robert, snoring, drooling, and farting in his sleep. It would have been so easy to creep away, pad barefoot across the lawn and tap ever so lightly on Jaime’s door. Once over the threshold, no one could stop her or take her back. It wasn’t as if they would know where to retrieve her.

No, she couldn’t do that.

If Robert ever found out, he’d blow a gasket. Sure Jaime was younger, hotter, stronger, but he was so new to this world. Tywin ran the Lannisters for decades, how much did he involve Jaime? Robert was an asshole, but he knew how things went, knew how to rally men to his side. Jaime had a family name and cash, but did he have the connections to go with it? _Loyal_ connections? Ones that knew where to dump a body like Robert did?

Maybe. Probably. She didn’t know.

At first she balled herself up on the bed, hoping such rigidity would keep her from throwing all caution to the wind. So afraid was she of the very real possibility that she might even attempt to go to him in her sleep, she wedged her palm between the mattress and the boxspring. The unconscious had a way of allowing one to wander towards whatever they desired, regardless of the danger it may have caused.

All of her precautions worked, through her own sheer willpower (and fear of Robert’s wrath) she was able to stay put--for the first night.

“I told you to knock it off with that shit,” Robert snarled next to her.

Cersei looked down at the small vial of cocaine in her hands. She hadn’t remembered pulling it from her bag, though it made sense that she had. The Starks were miserable to be around, and a quick bump would have done wonders to take that edge off. Of course, maybe she just wanted something to numb the disappointment over her vacation being over, her time with Jaime interrupted.

Four nights, to be precise. Each one of them had proved to be more worthwhile than the last. Cersei cleared her throat and tossed the drug back in her bag, knowing now was not the time or place to live in memory. She avoided an apology because she didn’t owe him sorries and she was sure she could get away with not giving one. Robert listened to no one but Ned Stark, and Ned Stark was quite vocal about his disdain for recreational drugs. While that didn’t stop Robert from powdering his nose with his cronies, it did prompt him to leave the good times in the car before he crossed into Stark territory.

The door opened suddenly and she came face to face with the stern expression of a woman who either hadn’t been fucked enough, or too much in the wrong way. Judging by the stiff posture and high brow Catelyn Stark graced her with acknowledgement, even the best fucking in the world couldn’t put a smile on that woman’s face.

“CERSEI!!!!” A familiar high pitched squeal shot down the main hall, bouncing off each wall until the echo of it reached her in welcome.

“I apologize,” Catelyn said weakly.

It was clear she didn’t want to offer such concession (not to the likes of Cersei), but propriety forced her to regardless. “Oh, that’s not necessary,” Cersei waved off the courtesy as she bent down to receive the Stark’s eldest daughter. “Is it, Sansa?”

The small ginger-haired girl giggled in her arms and shook her head before shoving her favorite stuffed animal in her face. Cersei could feel Robert shift beside her, the anger he typically reserved for her dissipated, replacing it with a degree of contentedness she only ever saw in him at the Stark residence.

Sansa shook her head no and wiggled the stuffed bird in her neck again. “Oh, that’s right. _Little Dove_ ,” Cersei said, remembering the endearment they’d given her the visit before. She’d loved the plush dove toy so much that they’d begun calling her ‘Little Dove,’ and she seemed to take to it well. It was one of the few times her and Robert agreed on something without any ulterior motive.  

However upset Catelyn was over her daughter’s lack of reserve, Cersei’s welcoming embrace for the child only seemed to offend the woman more. Her lips thinned at them both. “It’s Sansa’s bedtime.”

“No!” She protested and hugged Cersei tighter.

“Oh come on, Cat,” Robert chuckled, barrelling through the door as only Robert would dare to. “Let the girls play together.”

Cersei closed her eyes to the resulting glare Catelyn Stark singed her with. Part of her was tempted to apologize for Robert, much as Catelyn had apologized for her three year old daughter. It would have been no use if she had. Robert and Ned went a long way back, and however the city felt about Robert, Ned made sure the Starks (even his stuck up Tully-born wife) treated him like a member of the family.

“Missed you,” Sansa whispered loudly, spraying a small amount of spit against Cersei’s ear.

“I missed you too, Little Dove,” Cersei promised, giving Catelyn a cursory glance as she stepped inside.

Catelyn’s fuming was audible and Cersei wondered if her obvious lack of patience might be attributed to the two other children they had milling around, or her prominent pregnancy sapping all the energy from her. Probably neither. It was Cersei. It had always been Cersei. Catelyn had disliked her from day one. Too young for Robert, too superficial, and too poorly bred. Three strikes against her.

Every so often, while spitting blood in the sink from one of her husband’s latests love-taps, Cersei would wonder to herself why no one had told him it was such a poor match beforehand. For someone who seemed to know how extremely inadequate Cersei was, one would think Catelyn would have twisted her husband’s ear on the matter. Ned could have talked some sense into his best bud and saved him the trouble and her the fractures.

“Robert!” Ned called out from the hall, and both men engaged in a bear hug, clasping biceps and slapping backs.

“To bed, Sansa,” Catelyn hissed. “You know better.”

“No! I wanna see Cersei,” Sansa protested.

Cersei hugged her tighter, and for the first time since pulling into the Stark estate drive, was glad she’d dropped the blow back in her bag before taking a quick sniff. Such adoration was worth a clear head.

“I’m getting married,” her little voice whispered in her ear as she snuggled further into Cersei’s hold.

“To who?” Cersei whispered back, pretending to ignore the way Catelyn seethed beside her.

The men lead the way to the parlor, leaving the women to trail behind with absolutely nothing in common to talk about. Luckily, Sansa was the perfect distraction, declaring proudly, “Prince Charming.”

“That’s enough, young lady,” Catelyn huffed. “I said to bed.”

Cersei stopped herself from pointing out that she could hardly go about getting to bed while she was still being held. It was not a hold she was willing to relinquish readily, either. Sansa was a lifeline, and a cute one to boot with bright copper locks and ice-blue eyes that still needed growing into. She quickened her step, hoping the change in pace would distract Catelyn enough to buy some more time with her.

“Prince Charming, huh?” She raised a brow, teasing her.

Sansa picked her head up and looked her in the eye with the utmost seriousness as she said, “Uh-huh. Have you met him?”

It didn’t make sense, wasn’t logical, but for whatever reason, her mind shifted to Jaime, standing in his own doorway on that very first night. He braced himself on the doorframe, his cocky smile telling her he knew she’d break and come knocking. It should have put her off but instead, it only made her poke her finger in his chest and insist, “It’s just fucking, Lannister. That’s all this is.”

“Of course,” he agreed, holding his hands up in surrender as she walked past him.

Each time she tried to speed things up, worried Robert would wake up and find his bed empty at any minute, Jaime slowed everything down. His lips explored every inch of her body, while his hands braced her for a level of attention she’d never experienced before. She slid out from under him, pulling her nightie back on as she reminded him, “It didn’t mean anything.”

“I heard you the first time.”

Cersei left without giving him another look. A curiosity sated, a rebellion raised, a mistake created. There was nothing left but to return to her bed, tell herself that she’d gotten it out of her system, and then promise herself that it would never happen again.

Until the next night.

She’d been pushing the drinks to Robert all day, knowing he’d be passed out cold if he kept on as he was. Luckily, he did. It was on his second rattling snore that Cersei crept out of bed again and tiptoed over to Jaime’s villa. He opened the door before she had a chance to knock, and pulled her into his arms, hungry kisses and frisky hands followed.

When they’d both expended their last ounce of energy on each other, Jaime collapsed on top of her, trapping her under him. She enjoyed the weight of him too much and hesitated a fraction of a second too long before she started to shift. “Are you going to get up?” She asked, with much more irritation than she truly felt.

“I’m comfortable,” he said, yawning.

A few moments of silence passed, and Cersei started thinking about the dreadful villa next door, filled with the lumbering idiot she was legally tied to--for life. What if he woke up to pee?

“Why do you fuck around on your husband?”

The entirely too blunt question came from out of nowhere. “Excuse you?” Cersei glared down at him, pressing her palms to his shoulders to push him off.

He looked her in the eye, apologizing quickly. “I’m not saying he’s worth being faithful to. I guess I’m just saying, if he’s that bad, you’d think you wouldn’t want to be with any man at all.”

“Are you going to hit me, Jaime?” Cersei asked, offering him the same degree of uncomfortably direct conversation.

“What?” He jumped back. “No. Why would you think that?”

“You just implied that all men are the same. Are you?” She rose from the bed to find her clothes.

“Of course not.” Jaime tried to clarify, “I just meant if you know he’s dangerous, why do you risk it with so many guys?”

She tied her bathrobe tightly. “Why do you fuck so many women?”

He blinked at her and then said, “I haven’t been.” She fought the urge to ask why, saved by his continued speech, “But usually, it’s because I’m horny.”

“Exactly,” she answered quickly. It wasn’t worth trying to explain the many levels of payoff she got from riding anyone’s cock but Robert’s. “You think just because you follow your own dick like it’s some sort of divining rod, and I lack that appendage, that I’m not also likewise affected at times.”

She reached his front door, put her hand on the knob, and even promised herself she wouldn’t ever return, before she heard his smile over her shoulder. “You saying you’re horny for me, Cersei?”

The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop such an admission. “At least.”

“Of course she’s met him,” Catelyn interrupted Cersei’s memory. She rolled her eyes as she said, “She married Uncle Robert, didn’t she?”

“He’s not Prince Charming,” Sansa argued.

No, he definitely wasn’t.

Turning to face to Cersei, she asked with genuine curiosity. “Why did you marry Uncle Robert and not the prince?”

Cersei opened her mouth to answer, but nothing came out. It was such a painful question, and yet there was a freedom in hearing her inner most thoughts said aloud. She glanced over to Catelyn who was watching them like a hawk, and tempered her response. “I guess I just wasn’t pretty enough.”

Sansa’s eyes bulged at that answer. “What?! You’re beautiful!”

“No, it’s true,” Cersei laughed. Looking for a quick excuse that wouldn’t be doubted by a three year old, she hooked a finger around a lock of the girl’s bright red tresses. “Your hair is much prettier than mine. I bet that’s why.”

 _“Mumma!”_ A small voice yelled from the stair above them.

Catelyn sighed, “Arya.” She turned quickly, taking Cersei by surprise as she reached to rip Sansa from her arms. “Come along Sansa, I said ‘time for bed’ two times too many.”

With no one to hold, Cersei folded her arms over her chest and tried not to look so affected by the sudden loss. Catelyn moved Sansa’s knee to accommodate her bump and carefully climbed the stairs toward her youngest. She called back, “Head on into the parlor. I had refreshments laid out for before dinner.”

Cersei nodded, her eyes staying with Sansa peering over her mother’s shoulder. Her little hand came up and waved goodbye, and Cersei wiggled her fingers back at her quickly, avoiding Catelyn’s notice. She forced each foot in front of the other, making herself enter the Stark’s den. It was lucky the men were too focused on their own conversation to allow Ned the opportunity to attempt including her in any way. It was always forced and uncomfortable whenever people did, Robert brushing off and minimizing whatever she contributed.

It wasn’t long before dinner, and Cersei couldn’t have been more thankful for it. She wasn’t hungry, and even if she was, she’d be careful about just how many calories she put in her body anyway. Her eagerness for the meal was mainly for the very real consequence of it: full mouths were quiet ones.

“It looks as though you got a good deal of sun during the course of your vacation,” Catelyn commented over a spoonful of soup.

“Yes, I-”

“Practically lived by the side of the pool,” Robert finished for her. He shook his head. “It was the stupidest thing I’d ever seen. We were right by the ocean, but she spent every hour of everyday by the pool.” He shrugged and stated the obvious, “I mean, we have a pool at home.”

“Hm.” Ned smiled, spooning some more soup into his mouth. He was at the very least pretending to be interested.

Robert slurped his soup. “Women, huh? We’ll never understand.”

Ned nodded and then stopped immediately at the dart of Catelyn’s eyes. His expression was apologetic and resigned. Cersei imagined each visit from Robert and his inappropriate bride, cost good ol’ Ned a couple nights on the couch.

“They say the sharks swim right up to the beach,” Catelyn remarked, the comment was as out of place as Cersei felt.

“Oh?” Robert acted surprised by that tidbit of information. He hung his arm over the back of Cersei’s chair, drawing her closer to him as he asked, “Was that why? Scared of sharks?”

He would think her idiotic if she pretended to be afraid of sharks on the beach. However, she didn’t think he’d be so gentle if he knew the real reason why she spent every waking moment out on the chase lounger by the pool. Sure, it was to avoid Robert, but it became much more about teasing Jaime. On the off chance the Lannister boss who’d followed her all the way out there had been peering hungrily at her through the curtains, she would make damn sure she looked her best while they both waited for night to come.

She glanced at Robert. Unfortunately, it was safer to play stupid. Slowly, she nodded her head.

Robert belted out an obnoxious laugh at the ridiculousness of her supposed fear, turning to Ned who nodded his head smiling and then instantly cleared his throat at yet another glare Catelyn shot him.

Cersei stifled a smirk. The Tully’s had resources, but everyone knew it was the Stark name that ruled the northern part of the city. To see such power, pussy-whipped so easily, was amusing to say the least. She knew why she cowered to Robert--he left marks, but she couldn’t help but wonder why Ned cowered to Catelyn. Was it simply for her pussy? That shit was a dime a dozen. Her snatch couldn’t have been _that_ glorious. Perhaps it was love--true love.

Prince Charming love.

Cersei felt goosebumps form on her arms as she took them both in. Was that what a fairytale romance was? Ned Stark giving his bride many allowances, including her in much more business than most other wives in the city, and in return her birthing him a litter of pups and scowling at him each time he laughed at his inappropriate friend’s sexist sense of humor?

Her mind involuntarily shifted to the third night she’d spent with Jaime. As the sun tanned her skin all day, she vowed not to venture back to his villa again that night, especially not if he was planning on more pillow talk. Yet there she was, dissolving some valerian root into Robert’s scotch and counting the minutes until she could slip out from under his arm and across the lawn.

Jaime hadn’t a care in the world, focused only on giving both her and her body all of his attention. No one had ever offered her that before and the gravity of it was addicting. Moreso was the moment of consideration he gave her for more than just what was beneath her clothes.

There’d been a banging that she was sure was Robert, and had ejected herself from the bed, searching for clothes as the door flew open. Jaime’s little brother Tyrion was the last person she’d expected to see, his bang much larger than he looked capable of.

“I told you to stay away from her,” Tyrion hissed.

Completely non-plussed, Jaime rose from the bed, proud in his birthday suit as he reached for his cigarettes. His smile never faltered as he plucked one from the pack and said, “I make my own decisions.”

He offered one to Cersei and she glanced at Tyrion as she reached for it, following Jaime’s lead. Jaime sidled up to her, turning his naked ass to his brother as he lit her cigarette. He gave her a wink before he turned back around, taking a rather pronounced drag off his smoke.

“Yeah?” Tyrion charged across the room. “You make your own decisions, do you?” He picked up a pair of pants and flung them at him. “That’s funny, because while you’ve gone gallivanting off with Baratheon’s _fucking wife,_ the world has kept on spinning.”

“Excellent,” Jaime chuckled. “I’d hate for it all to crash down just cause I want a little R&R.”

Tyrion turned his head, cutting his eyes up to Cersei. She was mostly covered, though her see-through nightgown wasn’t exactly the modest attire she would have prefered in his judgemental company. “Leo’s kid skimmed some from the top.”

“So then handle it.”

“It would be a casualty that far outweighed the initial cost,” Tyrion glanced to Cersei and then back to Jaime. “Leo’s established...and he’s unhappy.”

Jaime sighed, stepping into each leg of his pants as he did. He didn’t bother to fasten them as he walked around his bed. “So then tell him we’ll just off his kid if he can’t follow the rules.”

Tyrion leveled him with a look.

“What?” Jaime shrugged. “Leo’s generation appreciates how things work.”

She didn’t know what possessed her, standing there--nearly bare, but she spoke up regardless. “If that’s the route you want to take…”

Tyrion looked fit to murder over so slight an intrusion, letting her know just how little her opinion on the issue mattered. She was a Baratheon--for better or worse, not a Lannister. If she were valued for more than her cunt they wouldn’t have even spoken in front of her in the first place. It was Jaime that disabused her of any insecurity over speaking up by asking, “What would you do?”

“Excuse me?” Cersei asked--Tyrion too, almost in unison.

Jaime chuckled before flicking ashes into the tray by his bed. “I asked you what you’d do instead.”

Cersei smiled and shook her head, about to shy away. It was then that it hit her, Robert would never have done this. However fleeting Jaime Lannister may have been, he at least offered her an opportunity for a voice. She puffed her cigarette and paced, suddenly not caring just how visible her nipples were to Tyrion, or anyone else for that matter. So many times in her young life, she’d considered death, an easier way out of everything. It had ceased being something to fear long ago and instead became a promise yet to cash in. “People stop fearing death, and actually start to welcome it. If things are bad enough.”

Tyrion raised a curious brow at her and shoved his hands in his pockets, listening however reluctantly. Jaime pulled the phone from the nightstand, grinning at her as he lifted the handset off the receiver and started punching numbers with his middle finger. “Go on.”

“I only mean that pain is different.” Without meaning to, her hand lifted, fingertips touching to the sensitive skin on her neck.

Jaime’s eyes narrowed as he held the phone to his ear, the amused expression that seemed to come naturally to him, dropping. Did he know?

No.

He couldn’t have, she deluded herself. Of course he knew Robert handled her roughly, but that didn’t mean he gathered exactly how roughly--or how affected she was by it. That was her deep dark secret, hidden under layers of foundation, vodka tonics, and a hit of this with a bump of that. No one cared about a pretty girl with a vacant smile and her head in the clouds. “You never make your peace with pain the way you do with the eventuality of death,” she said more to the bruises concealed than she did to either Lannister standing before her. Remembering she had an audience, she lifted her head and spoke with a conviction she’d never heard herself have. “I would rule through pain.”

Jaime’s eyes lit up, his smile deep and wide, taking over his whole face as he turned into the phone and ordered, “Kevan--yes. No. Toenails.” He glanced over to Tyrion and smirked as he took another drag off his cigarette. “Each and every one.”

It was hard to stifle her own smile, succumbing to the overwhelming feeling of acceptance in such a simple gesture. He asked her opinion, valued it, acted on it. It shouldn’t have mattered, so small a matter. But it did. If he would involve her in this, what else would he involve her in?

Even now, Cersei fought to contain the happiness the memory brought her. “We have an announcement to make,” Robert’s booming voice brought her back to the dinner table.

 _We do?_ Cersei eyed him beside her.  

He lifted his arm from around her and placed his meaty hand over her belly. She tried to control the natural bristle she felt, keeping it from obvious notice. Robert grinned proudly. “We’re going to start a family.”

Cersei nearly spit her drink, but in the interest of self-preservation gulped it back down. Catelyn and Ned looked just as surprised by the announcement, both of them still blinking before Ned raised his glass and pasted a grin on his face. “Congratulations.”

“I’m not pregnant,” Cersei corrected quickly.

Catelyn squinted her eyes at her. “But, Robert-”

“We’re trying now,” he answered quickly.

They were?

His hand heavy on her belly, rubbed back and forth, churning what little contents it held. “Now that Cersei’s old enough, it’s time we think about our future.” His other hand reached for his drink and clinked it against Ned’s. “We threw out her diaphragm this morning.”

Oh, _we_ did?

Both Starks averted their gaze, uncomfortable with the obvious over-share. Catelyn was the first to recover. “Yes, well, we are happy for you both.”

The floor might as well have vanished out from under her chair with how far the pit of her stomach fell. If she thought she was trapped now, wait until motherhood. That wasn’t to say that it would be such an awful fate, so much as it would regarding one of Robert’s children. For the rest of dinner her mind swam with images of miniature Roberts pulling at her greedily, being rude and mean, demanding a tit to succle and a lap to sit on. A sweat clammed her palms at the thought of cradling an infant with the same meaty hands and neanderthal brow as his father.

Her cringe was hard to hide and though Robert was typically oblivious to anything she was feeling, he definitely picked up on her inner crisis. Ned had stepped out to take a call, Cat to start plating the desserts. Robert was on her in the blink of an eye, pinning her against the wall. “Why aren’t you happy?” His fingers dug into her arms. “Don’t you want to carry my child, like a good wife?”

Never in a million years.

Cersei swallowed, her eyes wide and terrified as he pressed her back into the hardwood paneling. He pulled her forward just to slam her back. “Well? Don’t you?”

She hadn’t seen her coming, only heard a little voice demand from below her waist, “Be nice!”

Robert froze and looked down at the flurry of red, beating against his leg with tiny little fists. Cersei’s hand came out, weakly trying to separate her from Robert as she fought back tears, her voice warbling a promise. “It’s alright, Little Dove.”

His intense glare bore down on Sansa and Cersei felt her heart stop. Would he hit her? A child? Quickly, she went to shift herself between them, only to realize to her dismay that he still had her pinned in place.

“ _Robert,_ ” she plead.

Ignoring her, he turned, releasing her to scoop up Sansa. He chuckled loudly as he pat her back. “You’re a tough one, aren’t ya?”

“Everything alright?” Ned asked, coming around the corner.

Sansa stared at Cersei over Robert’s shoulder, much as she had her mother’s, only this time, her mouth opened wide to speak. Cersei shook her head quickly, silently begging her not to--not to tattle. Her little face screwed in curiosity, her mouth closing reluctantly. “Oh yeah.” Robert grinned. “Sansa caught me and Auntie Cersei _wrestling_ .” He gave his friend a wink, “ _If you get my drift._ ”

Ned’s eyebrows rose.

“I can’t help it if the woman’s got babies on the brain.” Robert rolled his eyes and puffed his chest out in a show of virility.

“Sansa Stark!” Catelyn exclaimed the minute she caught sight of her eldest daughter. “Your brother and sister are in bed, young lady. Why in the world do you think you’re an exception?”

Cersei worked to keep the tremble from her hands and the wobble from her legs as she found her seat again. The conversation progressed, about what she hadn’t the slightest idea. Without any recreational aides to help her escape, she willed her mind to wander to a happier place in an effort to tame the anxiety that resided inside her.

It was the fourth night with Jaime Lannister, and perhaps the most emotionally confusing. He met her at the door that night with his usual cat-like grin and she knew she’d fallen down the rabbit hole. His touches were tender, his manner always light and playful, and she was growing accustomed to the way he looked her in the eye each time he took her. The sheer fact that it was becoming less uncomfortable only unnerved her more.

They’d fallen asleep after they’d finished, and when Cersei woke up, she grabbed his shirt to wear to the bathroom. She didn’t have to, her own clothes right beside his, but she wanted to. It smelled like him, and the young girl inside of herself relished it. Robert smelled like sweat and alcohol. Jaime drank and smoked and did other things, but there was something more to his scent.

Youth? Energy? Confidence? Promise? Raw masculinity?

Perhaps it was a combination. Her fingers picked at the neckline, lifting the material up to burrow her nose under and breathe in deeply as she left the bathroom and made her way for the fridge in search of water.

She’d just finished capping the bottle when a pair of strong hands found her waist and slid to her belly. A stubbly chin landed on her shoulder, before pecking a kiss to the exposed flesh. “You look good in my shirt.”

Her cheeks dimpled and she dipped her head, trying to hide her smile. No one person had the right to show her such joy in life. His hands moved from her belly up to her breasts, cupping them through the oversized t-shirt forcing her ass to press back against him in retaliation. She only felt his erection momentarily before he spun her around and backed her against the refrigerator. They stood there, electricity zapping between them, as their chests rose, touching with each deep breath.

“I’m leaving tomorrow, it’s my last night,” she confessed.

His pupils dilated, lips parted, and before she could say anything else, he was kissing her. It was deeper, more urgent than his other kisses. Without any preamble at all, his hands slid down to her thighs and lifted her up. She let go of his shoulders only long enough to reach down, move the shirt out of the way and guide him to her, gasping with satisfaction as he slid inside, and whimpering with pleasure each time he bucked after that.

Her back would bruise from how hard he rammed her against the fridge, and she couldn’t have cared less, needing to hold him close. One hand came up and gripped the top of the freezer door for leverage and she turned her head quickly to bite the bulging bicep beside her, moaning as she did. He growled back and picked up the pace, everything on top of the fridge rattling and crashing down to the floor. A bag of hash fell and smacked him in the forehead and they both laughed at the absurdity of it, still both lacking the will to stop.

When he finished, a small voice in side her begged him not to pull out and leave her. It was desperate, pathetic, and way more invested than she ever wanted to get, so she swallowed it back as he set her down gently. Her bare feet touching the cold tile told her it was done. It had to be.

Jaime's hands stayed hot on her hips, not letting her go. Exhausted, his forehead dropped to her shoulder and he panted into her neck, “I want to see you again.”

That was what he’d said at the pool. He hadn’t said it any of the other nights she’d slipped into his villa, only that particular one. Was it because he knew she’d keep coming back, that certain she couldn’t get enough of him? Cersei chewed the inside of her lip as her legs solidified again. She avoided his gaze, her words barely above a whisper, “Don’t fall in love.”

She said it to herself as she much as she did to him.

“Let us walk you out,” Ned interrupted her memory.

Robert reached for Cersei’s hand, yanking her up from her seat. “Don’t trouble yourself, Ned. We know the way.” He turned to Catelyn and gave her a polite smile. “It’s been a pleasure.”

“Yes,” she agreed because it wouldn’t have been civil not to. “Still, allow us to see you to the door.”

Robert gripped her tightly to him, in a show of mock affection as both couples stepped into the entryway. They exchanged niceties and Cersei began to brace herself for the car ride home, wherein she would hear in brutal detail just how inadequate she was, how greatly she embarrassed him. The pitter-patter of little feet drew everyone’s attention back inside and a small flame of red rushed towards them, zeroing in on Cersei.

She staggered back a step, barely catching Sansa as she jumped into her arms. Catelyn squawked in embarrassment, her exclamations drowned out by the feeling of unconditional love tiny arms locked securely around the neck brought. _“Little Dove,”_ Cersei purred into her ear. “What are you doing?”

Sansa reeled back in her grasp to look her in the eye as her hands flew to her own hair. A pair of bright pink safety-scissors appeared from thin air and in the span of a second, a thick chunk of red hair was cut from her head. “ _Sansa!”_ Cersei gasped, surprised by the impulsivity.

“ _Sansa Stark!_ What is wrong with you?” Catelyn all but screamed.

“ _Shit_ ,” Ned sighed and hung his head.

“I’m serious, young lady!” Catelyn began to berate.

Ignoring her mother, Sansa leaned in and pressed her hair into Cersei’s palm. “Take it to find Prince Charming.”

Cersei blinked back at her, easing her down to her feet. Utterly dumbstruck, she could do nothing more than grip the hair and gape after her as she backed away, suddenly caught in her mother’s punishing grasp.

“ _March!_ ” Catelyn barked.

“We apologize,” Ned spoke for the rukus his daughter caused and his wife perpetuated.

Robert chuckled, ignorant. “Oh, don’t worry yourself over it. Kids will be kids.”

“You’ve ruined your hair,” Catelyn scolded off in the distance. Sansa's bright blue eyes dared to look back at Cersei as she was hauled up the stairs. Robert and Ned turned and made for the door and she was expected to follow, to toss the hair in the trash. After all, why would she keep it? Who would?

Fingers played in the baby-fine strands, the earnest in Sansa’s voice resounding in her ears. Jaime’s smile flashed before her eyes. Prince Charming wasn’t the same as in the books. He didn’t rescue you from anything, but instead was just a fuck you started to feel a little empty without. Before reason could stop her, she jammed the lock of hair in her purse and wiped away the single tear that rolled rebelliously down her cheek. Her Prince Charming came too late.

 


	5. Heartsick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I can’t fuck, touch, or even know you.” She closed her eyes to the tears that threatened to roll down her cheeks. “Not anymore.”

 

 

"Move on.”

“I have.” Jaime stared ahead over his drink, his eyes never leaving Cersei.

Tyrion scoffed, “Have not.”

In all the times that Jaime had seen Robert and Cersei out together, they were surrounded by men, a few usually sat between them. Of course Robert’s entourage was always more important to him; it wasn’t as if their love loss was a secret. So it was strange to see, on this occasion however, the divide completely disappeared. Robert wrapped his arm around her waist, palm resting over her stomach, snuggling her close to him. His grip looked almost _protective_.

That was rich coming from a man like that. She must have absolutely hated it.

Though, she hadn’t made any attempt to show her disdain. She _did_ hate it, didn’t she? Why wasn’t she moving? Edging away, nudging off? Sneering, perhaps? Or even just pursing her goddamned lips? Why wasn’t she fighting for fucksakes!?

Jaime took another sip of his drink, inhaling through his nostrils as he held the whiskey on his tongue. The delay helped him feel the bite to his taste buds better.

It had been at least two months since Jaime and Cersei’s clandestine meetings in Sunspear. When they first returned, it was difficult to get any message to her, but he managed it. They were frustratingly fruitless, leading him nowhere. She offered excuses at first: _It was too risky. Robert kept her on a tight leash. It wasn’t a good time._ Until finally, she didn’t bother with her empty explanations, favoring instead the silence that came with a cold shoulder.

Something was wrong. Though he’d only known her a short while, he was sure this wasn’t her style. Cersei may have learned how to hold her tongue and stare at her feet for Robert, but that wasn’t who she was. Not deep down.

The simmer behind her eyes, the intensity of her burn, her heat so severe--girl was all fire.

He saw it clear as day and took pleasure in drawing it from her, feeling her strength bloom and brandish. Jaime thought of the night she stood fiercely before him and Tyrion, declaring she would rule through pain. The threat of death suddenly became so paltry in comparison to what her fascinating mind could produce.

What she was to him, Jaime truly didn’t know. But she was more than a pretty repeat fuck and it genuinely bothered him when she started to slip away. How could he argue against what he didn’t know? Why didn’t she want him? She seemed pretty damned satisfied each night they shared hidden away in his villa.

_Don’t fall in love._

Women said that shit though, didn’t they? It was supposed to add to the appeal, wasn’t it? Playing hard to get, making themselves more elusive and mysterious. It didn’t actually mean anything.

It couldn’t. She kept coming back, kept risking her own hide to creep into his bed. She wouldn’t have done that if it was all just a series of one-nighters that took a bit to end. Jaime’s jaw clenched as she turned her head, her eyes meeting his for the span of a blink.

His heart sped up at the moment of recognition.

It was fleeting, her head kept turning, not a single hint in her expression that she had seen him at all. Or, that he was worth any sort of reaction if she had. Robert kissed her cheek and Jaime reflexively cracked his knuckles for it.

He was saved any further displays of forced affection between the Baratheons when Robert rose from their table, taking a couple of his men with him. Jaime glanced to the bathrooms to the far left and then turned his attention back to Cersei. Though her expression remained blank, there was no doubt about it, she was definitely staring back at him.

He grinned and reached back, tapping the bar as he nodded his head towards her. Giving her a wink she didn’t respond to, he took the final swig of his drink.

“Are you certain, Sir?” The bartender asked.

“Mm,” Jaime confirmed with another calming mouthful of whiskey burn.

The bartender cleared his throat, his voice nervous as he ventured to say, “Sir, the lady has refused the last few drinks you had sent.”

Jaime slapped the empty glass on the counter and ran his tongue over his teeth. “Send it again.”

“ _Oh yes,_ ” Tyrion mocked. “You’re certainly over her.”

“I am,” Jaime answered, watching the drink make its way through the crowd to her.

Tyrion leaned in closer. “Is that why you look ready to tear Robert Baratheon’s throat out each time he goes near his own wife?”

Jaime glanced to the side.

Tyrion took a sip of his drink and then shook his head. “No one cares if you’re a playboy, Jaime. Fuck a train of girls if you wish. But you have a territory to run now. There’s no room for you to be a jealous lover too.”  

“I’m not jealous.”

When Tyrion didn’t say anything back, Jaime glanced his way again. His brother eyed him warily. “Me thinks, you doth protest too much.”

The drink made its way to Cersei. She turned her head to the bathroom, and then back to Jaime, glaring at him before she declined the drink. He cursed under his breath and turned to Tyrion, growling, “Look, I don’t care who she fucks-”

Liar.

Even he didn’t believe himself. He ran a hand through his hair. “Just as long as she keeps fucking me.”

“That good?”

Memory filled his ears with the amorous sounds she made as they writhed together in a tangle of sheets and limbs, and the sated sigh she always breathed when he pulled her to rest on his chest, tucking her head under his chin after. “ _Phenomenal_.”

“Shit.”

“What?”

“You,” Tyrion gestured. “It’s worse than I thought. I mean, I knew it was bad. You did follow her on vacation--which was reckless, but Jesus just the look on your face right now...”

Jaime spun around, leaning over the counter to accept his next drink. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re not just into her.” Tyrion pinched his face in disgust. “You’re _heartsick_ for her.”

“Heartsick?” That was just stupid.

Tyrion downed the rest of his drink and nodded. “Oh yeah. Mooning over her Romeo and Juliet style.”

“Romeo and Juliet?” Jaime laughed.

“Mm.” Tyrion snapped his fingers at the bartender. “It’s pathetic really. Like a freshman girl. Maybe Cersei’ll let you share her tampon if you get going on the same cycle.”

“Fuck you.” Jaime glanced up at the bartender and then gave Tyrion an evil grin. “You know, you look awfully young.”

Tyrion scowled at him. “Don’t.”

Jaime cocked his head in question, busting his chops. “You sure you’re old enough to be drinking alcohol?”

“Not funny.”

The bartender squirmed behind the counter, clearly unsure if he was meant to take any action. Tyrion was three years younger than Jaime, making him only sixteen. In the eyes of the law, he wasn’t even allowed to step foot into this establishment, or any one of the many they did business from, and their father before them. Rules didn’t apply to Lannisters, unless of course it was a Lannister enforcing them. It made sense that the man felt caught, unsure whether or not the cut off the little brother. His hand shook as he reached to take the bottle from the counter.

Tyrion’s small hand flew up, a sharp switchblade glinting in the dark dim lighting. “Take that bottle away before I tell you to, and you’ll learn never to take anything away from me ever again.”

Jaime pressed his lips together to contain his laughing, only to feel the whiskey he’d been drinking go to his head, a chuckle forcing its way out. He always loved how people underestimated Tyrion’s ferocity because of his size, because it gave him a chance to cut them down from the knees if necessary. His happiness dissipated however, when he watched Robert return, tugging Cersei to him again.

Tyrion pocketed his blade and poured his own glass. “I know you’ve got it bad, but seriously. She’s married to someone. Not just someone, but _someone_. Connected--it’s bad news, Jaime.” He gestured to the gaggle of women surrounding them. “Go find yourself another big-titty blond to polish your knob and forget about her.”

It was too loud, but he was certain he could hear Robert’s obnoxious laugh all the way across the crowd. He grit his teeth as he said, “He doesn’t deserve her.”

“And you do?”

Jaime could have throttled him for that. Tyrion had no right to sound so wise beyond his years, saying things like that. It was that particular question that stopped Jaime from striding right over there to speak to her. It would have been easy enough. He would have simply made some excuse to talk to Robert, all the while drinking her in and forcing her to acknowledge him past just a cursory glance.

He’d never thought about whether or not he actually deserved her attention. Since when did that matter? No one ever got what they deserved. Sometimes it worked to one’s favor and sometimes it didn’t. Robert flouncing her about like some sort of meaningless trophy was definitely one of the times that it didn’t.

So bothered was Jaime by this question of deserving, that he didn’t try to approach her again for another week. He convinced Tyrion that he was going to break it off with her officially, careful not to admit that an official conversation on the matter wasn't necessary. It was only when his little brother with all the brains in the world and a weak heart for him naively believed he needed this interaction, that he pulled upon their father's contacts.

That was the arrangement.

As the oldest, Jaime got to take over the Lannister clan, uncontested. Tyrion as second born was gifted all the connections and contacts. It didn't matter that he was still technically a child at the age of sixteen. Tywin knew his children. Jaime had the balls to rule, to piss in someone's face if necessary and fight bare knuckle and bloody for his place at the table. Tyrion had the brains to help keep him there and therefore insuring himself a comfortable and privileged life. Giving Jaime unsupervised access to contacts would be just disastrous as betting money on Tyrion in a fight.

Within a couple of days Jaime knew all her favorite places, where to find her when. Tywin’s contacts definitely didn’t disappoint. There was a distant look in Tyrion’s eye when Jaime said as much that he tried to ignore. He knew his brother was taking their father’s death hard, but wasn’t sure how to help him pull out of it. It was as if he blamed himself, which was preposterous because everyone knew their father ended his own life when he felt his mind slipping. The old man refused to ever fall so far as to drool in a wheelchair and only ever look forward to Tapioca Tuesdays and Sponge Bath Sundays.

Jaime didn’t know how to disabuse his brother of the ridiculous notion that he was somehow to blame. It was easier to avoid the subject and hope time would heal their wounds. In truth, he was also too distracted with his thoughts of Cersei, unable to forget about the time they shared, however brief.

He could have his pick of any woman he wanted, all of them falling over themselves for the chance to rub up against him. Yet here he was, hooking his sunglasses to the v-neck of his cotton tee, surveying the inside of Cersei’s favorite nail salon.

Jaime recognized her instantly, despite the warm towel that lay across her eyes, partially obstructing her face from view. Her golden ankle bracelet sparkling under the lights drew his attention down to her feet, and then instantly to her calves. She was sitting back in the far corner of the salon, getting a pedicure. He approached slowly, waving various patrons away as he did, seeing more of her with each forward step. Her legs were bent and flexed to better offer her feet up to the artist and he actually had to swallow the excess saliva from his mouth as he followed her thighs up to the very short skirt that covered her lap.

It was sinful, this private view he had of her and it only intensified his thirst for her. He felt that way before, on their last night together. She had her back turned to him, raiding his fridge, and he stood behind her for as long as he could before he thought she’d turn around and discover him. Seeing her wearing his shirt, standing in his kitchen, fostered a need inside of him that he didn’t know he had. His chest swelled to feel her against it, arms flexed to hold her, palms itched to cup and touch, and his dick--oh god. It was an ache like none he’d ever felt before, not even in the early years of puberty.

Burying his nose in her long golden locks, Jaime inhaled the designer perfume she wore to control his desire to bury a lot more in her. It was work to form words, to even attempt charisma to lure her back to his bed for another round. When he spun her around and she stared up at him with her wildfire eyes, her voice so quiet and uncertain as she told him it would be her last night, he lost whatever tentative control he had.

Fuck the bed, there was no time for that.

He hoped kissing her would distract her from the very animalistic way he pinned her against the fridge, lifting and spreading her to fit him. There was no build up, no preparation, and he later kicked himself for being so selfish. The thought of it being the one and only time he’d ever see her walking around freely, wearing his clothing--as if perhaps she wanted him for longer than the time it took to come, created an urgency that wouldn’t be ignored. Quite simply, he felt he might actually lose his mind if he didn’t fuck her right then and there.

The nail artist at her feet looked up at him as he approached and he quickly put a finger to his lips. She raised her brow at him and he pulled a couple hundreds from his pocket. The girl quietly reached for them, and then cleared her throat before she said, “Let sit, Miss B. I get more special tea.”

Cersei gave a soft moan of appreciation that hit Jaime right in his pants. “Mm, that would be marvelous.”

The woman cleared her empty glass from the arm of the chair, only to be stopped when Cersei reached down into the plunging neckline of her dress and pulled out some folded up bills she had tucked away. Jaime stifled a smirk when she held them up between two fingers, not bothering to remove the towel and look at her when she said, “Remember Taena, if Mister B asks-”

“No alcohol. It _regular_ tea,” the woman, Taena, finished quickly.

Cersei’s lips curled. “Perfect.”

Taena winked at Jaime and flashed him a flirtatious grin before she left. He eyed her ass as she walked away deciding it wasn’t bad to look at. Finally alone with Cersei after so long, his eyes raked over her body, reclined and within reach. His mind instantly thinking, _I’ve definitely had better._

With less cat-like grace than he would have liked, but still quietly enough not to get caught, Jaime dove into the chair beside her. The corner of a couple folded bills stuck out of her cleavage and he bit the inside of his cheek at it. They were so alike, both bribing the nail artist.

He was tempted to pluck the cash from her bra, and let the pads of his fingers drag across her breasts as he did, teasing them both. To stop himself from such a distraction, he focused on the polishes between them. He had always had a natural talent for saying the right thing when it came to women. (If you asked Tyrion, it wasn’t his charm but his body that did all the heavy lifting for him.) Jaime didn’t have to have his brother’s finesse with words to know just what to say to women specifically. They only ever wanted confidence and that was something he had in droves.

Why wouldn’t he? He was rich, powerful, handsome, and never backed down from a fight--though probably wouldn’t have been in as many if it weren’t for such an abundance of confidence. He knew with the right smile and choice few words, panties fell off any woman in front of him, be they a scorned single mom swearing off men, bride of christ so chaste she didn’t bother shaving, or even the prudent camp counselor from the summer he turned thirteen.

Cersei was different, however. She didn’t seem to give a shit about his confidence, and tore through it easily. He had no idea what that woman wanted, what he could say or do or use to hold her attention. She’d come to him four nights in a row, so there had to be something he had that no one else did. Damned if he knew what it was.  

Finally, he’d gotten to her--mere inches away and he was completely at a loss for words. He played with the nail polishes beside her like a nervous boy trying to work up the courage to ask her to the school dance. It was pathetic and he knew it. Frustrated with himself, he grabbed a pink and held it up. He took a deep breath and plastered a self-assured smile across his face as he read, “‘ _Hard to Get’_ \--that’s ironic.”

She was frozen in her seat. He could see the goosebumps form on her arm as she slowly raised it, and carefully lifted the towel from her eyes. He didn’t know whether or not to be flattered by her visceral response to him, but figured if it was any consolation, his body was responding to her as well. “Because in my experience, girls who wear this color aren’t very hard to get at all.”

She didn’t bat an eyelash as she fridgidly replied, “Go get one then.”

His shoulders tensed, fighting the shiver just the sound of her voice gave him. It had been months, and though he’d be able to steal glances at her from across various venues, he hadn’t heard her voice in all that time. Jaime had no idea how severely it would affect him and was definitely blindsided by it.

Quickly, he glanced down to the other nail polishes, silently cataloguing the colors to control himself and hide the hunger that was consuming him. His eyes landed on a vibrant red with gold lettering across the bottle, and zeroed in on the color as he regained his composure, careful not to let her know just how shaken he was. He picked it up and read the title, “ _‘Her Majesty’s Red,_ ’--now that’s more your speed.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “The pink is just too mini-mall to be taken seriously.”

There was a sudden sadness in her eyes and he wondered what he had said to bring it on. She shook her head and spoke wryly, “And here I thought you lacked taste.”

Trying desperately to pull her from whatever sadness he gave her, he impulsively reached for her hand. Jaime wove his fingers between hers and stroked her arm as he leaned over to whisper even though they were alone. “I got a taste for you.”

Not only did she not struggle against the embrace, but her thumb rubbed back and forth over his knuckle. She looked away and he wondered if she even knew she was doing it. Was the subtle gesture of acceptance completely subconscious? Her whisper didn’t contain the same level of lust as his, but he could feel it deep down underneath all the sadness she seemed to be drowning in. “It was just fucking, Jaime.”

It was far from, and they both knew that. Rather than call her on her bullshit, he tried again to be playful, pull her from whatever was upsetting her. He gave her a wink as he spoke lightly, “Then let's get back to it.”

His attempt at levity had the opposite effect on her and she jerked her hand from his, throwing him off her as she huffed, “I’m married to Robert.”

The simple statement felt like a punch to his gut and he instantly growled back, “That didn’t stop you before.” It was the wrong thing to say, and it only frustrated him more. Jaime reached for her chin, gently holding it and encouraging her to turn and look at him. His voice softened as he apologized. “Hey, sorry.”

She said nothing, only closed her eyes in his grasp.

He let go, not wanting her to think he was trying to use any degree of force on her. It was hard to release her however, wanting so badly to keep touching her. “What’s wrong?”

When she met his question with more silence, he forced a small smile as he asked, “Didn’t you have fun with me? I know I did with you.”

Her eyes opened and she seemed to stare through him as she answered, “It's not all about fun.”

No. He supposed it wasn't. ‘Mooning over her’ as Tyrion put it, definitely wasn't fun. Tracking her down and orchestrating an opportunity to catch her alone, was much less thrilling than the movies made such actions seem. If anything, the whole thing had become tiresome, and he wanted simply to fall back in bed with her and spend an eternity fucking and sleeping with her.

Wait, _eternity?_

Where the hell did that thought come from?

Shit.

The staggering realization of his own subconscious slapped him and he cleared his throat as he anxiously offered, “So then let's get serious. “

Her jaw dropped and she gaped at him. He definitely didn’t know how to take that, grinned wider in retaliation. Looking unfazed was his only defense against her real-time reactions to his vulnerability. Cersei finally managed to close her mouth and regain some of her composure. “You're not looking for commitment, remember?”

He shrugged. “Things change.”

“Marriage doesn’t.”

There she was sucker-punching him with matrimony again. The effect had lessened, he having already experienced it before. Jaime smirked back at her. “Divorce rates are pretty high in this city. I could put you in touch with a great lawyer, goes by ‘Barracuda’ because she eats husband's alive.”

“Jaime-”

“Seriously, no man survives Barbrey.”

Her hand raised to stop him. “Jaime-”

“I mean it,” he interrupted her again, not wanting to hear her unwillingness to shake herself of Robert. “Dustin’s got her shit together. She’d castrate him, get you everything. And if he comes near you, I’ll take care of him.”

It would start a war, as Tyrion was so quick to remind him. Jaime eyed the beauty before him again and told himself that a little war wasn't necessarily a bad thing. It would assert his name in the city, show he didn't take any shit and it'd get him the girl. He’d be a valiant knight in shining armor like in the fantasy books he enjoyed reading.

“Jaime-”

No. He wasn’t going to let her shy away from freedom. “Just say the word.”

“God dammit, Jaime!” She suddenly screamed at him. He had barely recovered from her screech when she hissed, “I'm _pregnant_.”

What?

No. Wait, what?

His mouth hung open at the declaration and he could do little more than blink at her. She glared back, unwavering.

She wasn’t joking.

She _really_ wasn’t joking.

Jaime’s mind raced back to the times they shared, each and every one of them including a condom--with the exception of the famous refrigerator sex he’d been reliving each night when he was alone and thought about her too much. His gaze dropped to her belly, inspecting it for any bump or bulge. She was flat as a board and he wanted to call her a liar for it, if for no other reason than to wash himself of the panic that potential fatherhood created.

“You’re pregnant?” He repeated back to her.

She closed her eyes and drew a solemn breath. “Yes.”

Judging by the morose look on her face, he sincerely hoped the answer to the next question he asked was no. He didn’t want any woman unhappy at the prospect of carrying his child. “Is it mine?”

His heart thumped loudly in his chest as he considered how he would feel to either a yes or a no. A yes would turn his whole world upside down, and a no should be a relief, but he got the sneaking suspicion that he would still feel upended if it wasn’t his baby in her belly. It was preposterous to think that it would matter. Who were they to each other for him to think he had any entitlement in regards to her womb?

Her eyes opened, liquid irises turned poison. She squinted at him, her face screwing in outrage. “Why? Looking for a set of stairs to throw me down?”

He reeled back from the accusation. “No!” Jaime clenched his fists, regaining his composure. “Not all men get off on fucking women up.”

“And not all men want to be fathers.” She rolled her eyes. “It was a fair question.”

No it wasn’t. She was being mean.

“Cersei,” he leaned in reaching for her hand again. He appealed to her, “Please. Just tell me.”

She said nothing, but held his gaze as his hands massaged hers. He felt so impeded by the arm of the chairs they sat in. He wanted nothing more than to pull her into his lap and hold as much of her against him as physically possible for this sort of discussion.

“No,” she sighed and again pulled her hand from his.

Oh.

Well, then.

That’s just…

Memory of her teeth biting into his bicep as he crushed her against the fridge, coming hard and uninhibited inside her, gave him evidence to dispute her testimony. “You sure?”

The reluctant way she nodded should have been verification enough, but he stared at her until she was uncomfortable enough to explain more. “I started my period after I got back.”

“Oh.”

Swimming in the tidal pool of emotions, he glanced back down at her flat stomach and a sliver of hope shot through him. “You sure you’re pregnant? I mean chicks are late all the time, aren’t they? You take a test?”

“Blue,” she said simply.

“ _Blue?_ What the fuck does that mean?” He asked, irritated by the one word response that didn’t really tell him much of anything.

“The test turned blue. Which means _pregnant_ ,” she sighed. “Like I said.”

Jaime wanted to break something or someone, whichever was most readily available. She was pregnant, with Robert’s (or worse, possibly a random fuck-buddy’s) baby and not his. Not that he wanted one, but he sure as hell didn’t want the woman he’d been chasing to be having someone else’s. It was only a small consolation that she didn’t exactly look thrilled about it.

In fact, she looked downright miserable. Shit. However trapped she felt with Robert Baratheon before, she definitely felt even more so now. The urge to break something only amplified as he thought of the way Robert snuggled her close, the perfect little family. Whether this baby was Robert’s or someone else’s she would tell him it was his. It was the only way to survive and they both knew it.

That was it!

Jaime would find that fucker and beat him bloody. It’s not as if Cersei would want the sperm donor milling around, tattling to Robert on her. He could get his aggression out and help her at the same time. The question tumbled from his lips before he could stop it, “Who’s baby is it?”

Red-hot fury heated her face as she slapped him hard across the cheek, leaving fingerprints. Jaime jumped back in surprise at the sudden assault. “ _It was a fair question,_ ” he used her own words to defend himself.

“Fuck you!”

He held his hand to his cheek, soothing the burn she left. She was all piss and vinegar, cursing him out and pointing her finger, letting him know just how big of a piece of shit he was for daring to ask. Though she was a battered housewife, and he’d seen her quiet and withdraw within herself because of it, she didn’t seem to fear any consequence to striking him. At first he was outraged by that, but then he realized it meant something. She was freer around him and he couldn’t stifle the grin that spread across his lips because of it.

“What in the hell are you smiling at?” She growled.

Jaime cupped her cheek and leaned in to press his lips to hers. She resisted at first and then let him hold and guide her, accepting his tongue as it slid past. They tasted each other for the first time since Sunspear and it felt right, like that was what they were meant to be doing all along. He gently pulled free to smile against her lips. “We’ll figure it out.”

He felt her eyelashes flutter against his and he opened his eyes to see her staring back at him. Gone was the look of lust she’d worn in their kiss, replaced now by what could only be described as indignation as she turned out of his grasp. “I tell you that he knocked me up, and you say ‘we’ll figure it out,’ are you serious?”

“Cersei-”

Tears welled in her eyes as she sneered, “Don’t you get it? I’m not your girl, Jaime.”

“Cers-”

“I can’t be,” she barked. “I can’t fuck, touch, or even _know_ you.” She closed her eyes to the tears that threatened to roll down her cheeks. “Not anymore.”

Jaime ran his hand through his hair, exhaling. “Don’t do this. It doesn’t have to be like this.”

“Taena!” Cersei called out, snapping her fingers in the air. Jaime stood stock-still, unsure of what to say or do next, knowing only that he wasn’t ready to leave her, not like that. Her voice hardened as she spoke to him one last time. “We’re done.”

The little woman scurried in with a drink in hand and set it on the side table before she settled back down by Cersei’s feet, completely oblivious to the severity of their conversation. Jaime stood still, glaring angrily at Cersei for the easy way she cast him off and felt his blood boil. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. She was knocked up with someone else’s kid and rather than dropping her like a bad habit, he was willing to work through it with her. _She_ was telling him she was done with _him_?

Oh, fuck no.

The pistol he always kept tucked in the back of his pants flew free and he reflexively shot four bullets rapid fire into one of the empty chairs across the room, the loud banging echoing throughout the tiny salon. It felt good to ruin something, to feel deadly force flow through his palm.

It calmed him, the way only violence could.

Despite the woman screeching at the top of her lungs over the sudden gunfire. Jaime inhaled through his nostrils counting to five as he pulled some cash from his wallet and dropped it on the ground. “For the chair,” he barely choked out around the lump in his throat, before he turned his back, striding for the door. Cersei’s reflection stared back at him through the glass, haunting him with a despondent look so outside the sheer terror Taena screamed and shook with.


	6. For Good Measure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She scurried away before anyone could see and steal her one chance at freedom. 
> 
> **Content Warning: Abortion**

 

 

_Do you want it?_

What kind of question was that?

What right did he have to ask her something as personal as that? Especially after she ended things--not that they ever really started. She thought the way he raged against a massage chair would have meant he’d _finally_ understood that.

But no.

Days later, she was met with a sales associate, sweating nervously as he looked over his shoulder and picked at his tie. “Yes?” She asked, annoyed that he was taking up her airspace without anything Gucci on hand to offer her.

“I’m supposed to ask you if you _want it._ ”

“What?” Cersei squinted at him. “Want what?”

“It,” he replied quickly. “He said my debt’s paid if I went up to you and asked: Do you want it?”

“He?” Cersei knew the answer but still prodded for more. “Who did you owe? Who told you to ask me that?”

The man shook his head, refusing to respond.

“Do you know who my husband is?” She asked, taking a step forward to corner him back against the nearest wall. Robert was at least good for one thing, his name.

The man gulped and nodded. His eyes darted to the slight space between them and in the blink of an eye, he slipped through it, bolting free from her interrogation. He called back a pathetic apology, “Sorry, ma’am.”

 _Do you want it?_ The question crashed into her, disturbing what little sliver of tolerance she possessed to overcome her very _intolerable_ circumstances.

God damn Jaime Lannister for wrecking what little peace helplessness brought. Didn’t he understand she had her lot in life and he, his. They weren’t meant to mix, to dream. They were on separate paths, completely apart from one another. Jaime didn’t care, though. He acted as though they could travel together; that she could even venture the same direction as he. How easy it was for him to sit on his throne in his part of the city and send her messengers to whisper in her ear, scrambling her head and her heart. The selfish prick!

The casual way he leaned over the chair arm that separated them, his voice smooth as silk as he teased and flirted with her, demonstrated all too well how out of touch with reality the man was. His fingers had plucked at various nail polishes before landing on _Her Majesty’s Red_ , knowing somehow deep down in some inexplicable way that it was the forbidden color.

How could that be? How could he know? Robert and all his men, honorable Ned and dutiful Catelyn Stark, even Jaime’s little brother Tyrion (she could tell just by the way he spoke to her back in the villa)--really everyone that had ever met her, saw her as the plush pink _Hard to Get_ , made in mass and easily bought. Except for nineteen year old Jaime Lannister, famed playboy and boss to a huge chunk of the city’s west side. When he looked at her, flashing his magnificent grin and staring his bright emerald green eyes back into hers, he saw her for who she really was, deep down beneath all the perception. He saw her red; saw her as ‘her majesty.’

Fuck.

His scent filling her nostrils as he reached for her hand had her heart beating faster. His eyes staring back so sincerely into hers had her downright aching for his touch. It was the way he spoke to her--saw her--that put rebellion in her head. He had no business doing that.

_Let’s get serious._

Tears streamed down her cheeks, his words echoing in her brain. That was before he knew it was too late. Of course he would play the valiant knight and pretend not to care when she told him. It was a lie, though. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, no man would want a woman pregnant with another man’s child. She drew a deep breath, wiping away the tears his false hope provoked and decided for the hundredth time, that it was right to send him away.

If only he could get that through his thick head. Rather than sensibly retreat, Jaime only continued his pursuit, enlisting the help of various nameless nobodies to play messenger. And what a message to deliver. What did it matter what she wanted? It was done. _Want_ didn’t factor into the equation.

The idea of a tiny Robert stealing protein and calcium straight from her blood and bones, made her stomach churn. Too many a night, she eyed him fat-faced and greasy from inhaling a bucket of fried chicken, laughing at something stupid and crude.

 _That_ was inside her.

Who would want to mother that? Greedily leeching the life from her, taking more than she had to give in order to be born a proper Baratheon. Assuming she even survived the labor--Robert’s spawn was destined to be beastly and would no doubt ravage her insides, leaving her wrecked and bleeding out on the operating table.

Jesus.

He’d be the antichrist, and she Rosemary praying for miscarriage. Just when she thought the tears were done, another escaped her and she quickly wiped it away. The damn hormones were wreaking havoc, making her think and feel the things she’d always numbed with drug and drink.

Disgust. Revulsion. Shame.

Robert’s arm around her, his sloppy kisses, and terrible terms of endearment, fostered these feelings. Ever since learning he’d successfully knocked her up, he showered her with his unwelcomed affection, putting her on a pedestal by exchanging closed fist for open palm. He even attempted to make love to her once, kissing rather than crushing her throat. She shuddered when he gripped her belly tenderly and told her he loved her. His constant disappointment over the past two years was surprisingly much more bearable than his acceptance and praise.

And all for what? Because she could be bred.  

Hateful at the realization, Cersei left the fitting room, a mountain of clothing she hadn’t the presence of mind to bother with, untried. Her hand slid down to rest over her navel, wishing she could close her eyes and go back a couple of months, find a way of rejecting Robert.

If she could go back in time to do that, she would push it further, back to just before he saw her on a runway. She’d beg off sick to her manager that night. A person couldn’t want what they didn’t know about. She’d never have to live through him knocking on her parents door, acting like they were lucky he’d bless their squalor with his presence, to charm her father by asking him for her hand in underage marriage. She’d never have to feel his fist repeatedly break her, or come to crave a young towheaded adonis so completely out of reach.

Jaime mentioned divorce, as if that were an option. He showed his naivety to even suggest it. The only chance she had of being free of Robert was to survive him. Jaime was supposed to be a means to an end; a way of showing her how to go about doing that--killing Robert. Instead, the man distracted. So affected by his attention, Cersei spent more time holding him between her legs than she had actually learning from him. She could have kicked herself for it too, if she hadn’t enjoyed herself so thoroughly in his embrace. It had been a very long time since she’d been the innocent witless girl she’d been in her youth, but Jaime brought that kind of levity out in her, let her feel as though it were allowed.

She didn’t know what made her do it, but as she approached the store’s exit, she glanced to the side and spotted the nervous clerk with a debt to clear. On impulse she turned to him, grabbing his lapel and yanking him close to sneer into his face. “No, I don’t want it! Tell him that. Tell him I said: Not in a million years!”

“Oh-kay,” he said uncertainly. Cersei couldn’t concern herself with his startled state, and took leave of him as quickly as she’d grabbed him.

It was a couple of days before she received any indication that Jaime had gotten her message. It took the form of a delivery man refusing to leave his package with any one of the dozen maids Robert employed (and no doubt fucked), insisting only the lady of the house to accept it.

Cersei stared down at the package, noticing its distinct lack of address, neither return or receiving. This went through no mailing service, though the man uniformed head-to-toe would have the world think otherwise. Perhaps it was a bomb, meant to kill Robert Baratheon’s only budding heir? Where the possibility would have cautioned others, Cersei was ripping the clear packaging tape up off the seam as she noticed the threat--ever hopeful.

It was not a bomb, but instead something just as deadly. Two pill bottles sat in the box before her, along with a small note that read: _Lions are meant to be free._

Jaime.

She swallowed back the lump that instantly formed in her throat over the memory of his smiling face resting on her thigh, embracing the brand that embarrassed her. That was another time. She had to let it go. The prescribing physician’s name on the first bottle read: _Qyburn, M.D._ She’d never heard of the man--or woman, there were more and more female doctors now. One bottle read, _Mifepristone 200mg--take 1 tab PO within 70 days of LMP for medical abortion._

Not entirely believing what she was reading, Cersei picked up the second bottle and read, _Misoprostol 200mcg--take 4 tabs SL within 12-48 hours of ingesting Mifepristone to induce medical abortion._

Medical abortion.

Realizing just what she was holding, the bottles turned heavy in her hands.

Oh, Jaime. You magnificent man.

She let her eyes, blinking in disbelief, re-read, _Twelve to forty-eight hours._ Such a window of opportunity. Did one really get so busy with the day, that they let such a simple thing as ending the life growing inside bleed over into the next day before they took a dose to finish it all? She’d taken enough Fentanyl in her time with Robert that she knew ‘SL’ meant: under the tongue.

That was easy enough.

All things considered, anyway.

She scurried away before anyone could see and steal her one chance at freedom. The bottle said seventy days to abort an unwanted baby: two months and ten days, how very fucking precise. Cersei tried to count back and couldn’t, having no idea how far along she was. Fearing it was too late, she shook two pills into her hand and gulped them back before she could second guess her self.

Double dose.

She paced back and forth a bit, debating whether or not to stick her fingers down her throat and stop everything before it could start. As the minutes ticked by, so too did the hours. Cersei held her stomach through the doubts, telling herself that whatever happened, happened. If this baby survived, she would at least have a companion bound to her through blood, someone to commiserate with and weather Robert’s wrath.

Would he treat the baby differently, knowing it shared his biology? Or would it be subjected to the same amount of pain as she? Cersei cringed, knowing she couldn’t protect it. Not when she couldn’t protect herself. Assuming the child didn’t share his disgusting traits, she’d just be birthing another punching bag for him.

No way in hell would she do that to an innocent child.  

Twelve hours to the second, she popped the recommended four pills under her tongue, and then another two for good measure. No sooner had the last bitter taste of the pills dissolved away, had her bedroom door crashed open. Robert chuckled drunkenly as he said, “Cersei, fix your face! We’ve got a dinner to get to!”

“Dinner?” She asked, not remembering any such plan. “Can we reschedule? I’m not feeling well.”

He strode across the room, catching her up in his arms as he grinned, “Of course you feel sick. You’re knocked up. My boy’s reminding you, you’re a mommy now.”

She tensed as he peppered kisses over her cheek and spoke into her flesh. “People expect you to be sick. They won’t care if you run off to hurl a bit.”

Cersei closed her eyes, trying not to vomit at his touch or the words he scratched over her skin. She was the one who came from nothing, while he came from everything, though no one would ever know it to actually listen to the man.

Before she could protest further, she was in a car speeding down the road to the Stark estate. The door had barely opened when a blur of rich auburn hair and four tiny limbs wrapped around her, uttering a muffled, “ _Erm-sei_.”

She declined Robert’s hand getting out of the car, to better rub little Sansa’s back as she held her. “Hey, Little Dove,” she spoke down to the scalp filling her field of view. The girl was beautiful and vulnerable, and everything Cersei was slowly killing inside herself.

“Om says oh to ed,” she grumbled into her chest.

“Oh?” Cersei forced a smile as she walked. “Do you need your beauty rest?”

“Sansa Stark!” Catelyn bellowed from the front door. “There will be consequences for your misbehavior young lady!”

Robert laughed and muckled onto her. “Oh Catelyn, it’s alright if the babe wants a little cuddle.”

Cersei tried not to snicker at the way Catelyn stiffened in his embrace. When he let her go, she smoothed her hands over her dress and insisted, “Sansa is well aware that it is time for bed.”

“Go on, love.” Ned called from the foyer, grinning at Sansa as he said, “Best ya get.”

Cersei could feel Sansa scowl into her, and scarcely had the chance to kiss the top of her head before she shimmied down and skulked away, stomping each step in defiance. Catelyn turned to her, grimacing as she said, “Apologies. Sansa always seems to forget herself in your presence.”

Ned mussed Sansa’s hair as she passed him, and carried a small bundle of blankets in his arms, passing it carefully to Catelyn.

“It’s alright,” Cersei murmured, staring at the sleeping baby in front of her.

“We named him Bran,” Ned proudly declared.

Robert’s chest puffed as he judged, “Rightfully so. A good strong family name.”

Cersei didn’t want to image what Robert would insist on naming his child. She glanced quickly to the clock, praying to be out of there before the pills started to take effect. “What’s for dinner?” She asked eagerly, hoping to move their visit along.

Ned and Catelyn reeled their heads around to stare at her. It was not only rude of her to ask, it was incredibly out of character. The stick-thin model never cleaned a plate at the Starks, so to even ask could be considered borderline hostile. Cersei opened her mouth to offer an excuse she hadn’t yet thought of, when Robert threw a heavy arm around her shoulders and exclaimed, “Of course you’d be thinking of food! My son is hungry!”

Both Starks’ eyebrows raised in unison. “You heard right,” Robert exclaimed. “She’s pregnant!”

Cersei forced her lips to pull back from her teeth in as much of a smile as she could muster. After that, the night seemed to pass her by, the clock’s minute hand flying, and the conversation surrounding but never including. She didn’t remember being shuffled into the dining room, only looking at her empty plate and silverware to either side of it. That was when she was plagued with the first cramp. It was uncomfortable, but no more so than her monthly, so she tried to ignore it as the large serving trays appeared.

Her plate was loaded for her, each scoop overwhelming the last. The pain low in her belly grew, moving from dull cramp to brutal gouge. Persistent became staggering. Perspiration grew on her upper lip and at her temples as she tried to breathe through the latest sharp stab. It was the longest lasting yet, followed by a gooey accumulation between her legs.

She shot out of her chair as quickly as she could. “Sorry--sick,” she shouted by way of apology and explanation.

Robert’s laugh thundered behind her, assuming morning sickness, and taking pride in it. She tried not to hear it as she hobbled towards the nearest bathroom. Crouched over the jon, letting each cramp gush more from her, she looked at her watch and started counting backwards. It had been two and a half hours since the very last pill broke down to nothing more than promise under her tongue.

Of course this was happening right now.

In the perfect Starks’ pristine bathroom--of all places.

During a goddamned dinner party--of all times.

Cersei closed her eyes and drew a deep breath, wincing as her insides collapsed and fell in the porcelain bowl. If only that were the end of it.

All the muscles in her abdomen took over, spasming hard to rob her of all composure. She clutched the counter beside her, gripping for leverage and support, hissing her agony through her teeth.

Blood was expected, but only a certain amount. No one could have prepared her for the amount she was losing. Her knees knocked, her stained underwear shivering around her ankles with the motion of her body’s shock. The pain was too much, someone was bound to hear her involuntary whimpers. She rooted around her purse, hoping to find a Molly in there to calm her thoughts and perk her body up to better act unaffected. She’d take two to forget about today.

Nothing.

There was nothing in there. Shit.

Another wave of agony wracked through her and in her desperation, turned her head to bite the side of the counter, riding through it. Sweat dripped and rolled down her forehead. There was no doubt in her mind that this would be successful, no baby could survive this. She didn’t know if she, herself could survive it.

She rest her arm on the counter and leaned over to press her forehead into it, staring down at the tile floor as she did. Gritting her teeth through another cramp, she didn’t hear the bathroom door open. Neither did she see the little girl tip-toeing her way inside, not until a pair of startling blue eyes stared back at here, mere inches away. “You’re hurt!”

“No!” Cersei hissed, reaching for her. “Shh, it’s okay.”

Sansa swerved out of her grasp and shook her head. “You’re bleeding. I’ll get Momma.”

Tears rolled down Cersei’s cheeks, mortified and miserable. “No, please.” Panting through the pain, she begged, “You can’t, Little Dove.”

Tiny fingers ghosted over her face, brushing back the matted strands of hair that clung to her forehead and cheeks. Sansa’s worried face hovered an inch from hers as she insisted, “You need help.”

“You are helping,” Cersei lied, hoping the smile she forced would somehow convince the girl not to seek help. It might have been more believable if she could stop her body from trembling.

Sansa pursed her lips, eyeing her in doubt. “When my tummy hurts, Momma sings to me. Want me to sing to you?”

Another wave of pain rippled through her, tearing her apart. When she could breathe again, Cersei whimpered, “That would be lovely.” Tears blurred her vision and her voice caught as she added, “But you gotta be quiet though, alright?”

“Uh-huh,” Sansa nodded and turned to the door, twisting the little lock on it without ever needing to be told to.

Cersei didn’t hear the words she sang, only the soft melody. The innocence in it forced her to keep fighting, to pull herself together in front of the child watching her. She reached for the toilet paper and pressed a shaky hand to her inner thigh, attempting to clean herself. A gentle tap on the bathroom door startled her and ceased Sansa’s singing.

“Sansa?” Catelyn asked through the door.

Sansa started to open her mouth, but closed it when Cersei reached for her arm and shook her head. She inhaled deeply and called out, “It’s me, Catelyn. I’m afraid I’m feeling a little under the weather.”

“Why is Sansa in there with you?” She asked suspiciously.

It was Sansa this time who grabbed Cersei’s arm and shook her head no. A small smirk tugged at Cersei’s cheek. The kid understood the importance of secrets. “She’s not. It’s just me.”

The door knob jiggled and Catelyn growled, “Don’t lie to me. I heard her singing. Open this door immediately.”

Fearing she would only get louder about it, Cersei sighed and waved Sansa over to the door. “Open it.”

Sansa blinked at her, silently asking if she was sure. Cersei nodded, feeling completely drained. She barely heard Sansa say, “She’s hurt in her privates, Momma.”

Catelyn’s harsh expression scrutinized her from above. Her voice was cold as she ordered, “Go to bed, Sansa.”

“Cersei needs me to sing to her,” she argued.

“Go to bed,” Catelyn repeated more forcefully. “I will tend to her.”

“But-”

“ _Now_ ,” the Stark matriarch hissed.

Cersei watched the little girl turn to leave, tears welling in her eyes. “You didn’t have to-”

“Didn’t I?” Catelyn growled. “She’s a child-- _my_ child.” She gestured to the mess before her. “She has no business seeing this.”

Cersei didn’t have it in her to maintain a facade, and say she was fine when she wasn’t. The blood caking her thighs wouldn’t let her. To her surprise, Catelyn blew out an exasperated breath and then kicked her shoes off as she reached up, catching her hair in a messy ponytail.

“What are you doing?” Cersei asked, watching her roll her sleeves up.

“Shut up.” Catelyn stepped forward and gripped her shoulder. “Brace yourself.”

For what?

With a strength Cersei hadn’t anticipated, Catelyn heaved her up to stand and walked her to the shower, easing her down into the tub. Her fingers worked Cersei’s zipper and began to pull at her dress, letting the material pool at her waist. Cersei held her hands over her breasts, suddenly uncomfortable with such exposure. Catelyn snorted as she yanked the dress down over her hips, freeing her of the garment. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before. Take your underwear off.”

Cersei’s eyes widened at the instruction. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Catelyn responded impatiently.

Cersei hooked her fingers into the sides of her underwear hesitantly, and drug them down her legs, trying not to see the massacred material in the middle.

Catelyn held her hand out impatiently and Cersei held them up to her, incredulous that she would touch bare fingers to a garment so defiled. Catelyn snatched them from her and threw them in the sink. She worked quickly, turning the knobs to the tub and jamming the stopper in the bottom.

Hot water poured from the faucet and Cersei yelped at the burn to her feet. “What are you doing? It’s hot!”

“You’ll be thanking me in a minute.”

Cersei looked around herself, naked in the Stark’s bathroom, Catelyn turning the taps for her. Laughing at the absurdity of the situation, she moaned, “This is hardly the time for a bath.”

Red water rose and surrounded her hips. The voice in her head that told her this was gross was quickly stifled by the relief that warmed her, the water soothing the ache of her insides. Catelyn rose from the side of the tub and held Cersei’s dress up into the light, inspecting it for various spots of blood. Satisfied that it was clean, she hung it up on the hook by the door and grabbed the panties in the sink, running clean water over them.

“Why are you doing this?” Cersei asked, her chin resting on the edge of the tub, thankful for the way the water seemed to ease each surge of pain.

“Perhaps because I didn’t walk in on you overdosing, like I figured,” Catelyn sniped back at her, reaching for a bar of soap as she did.

Cersei closed her eyes and drove her head into the porcelain. What else did she expect? Catelyn never bothered to hide her low estimation of her. In the silence that followed, she stole glances of the woman, working the suds into the crotch of her panties. And then, completely out of the blue, Catelyn sighed deeply to herself and turned to rub her cheek into her shoulder. If Cersei hadn’t known better, she would have thought the woman might have been wiping away a tear of her own. No way. She had to have been rubbing an itch on her face. Catelyn Stark didn’t cry. Her voice was hollow as she said, “The pain of losing a child is a pain felt on every single level of your being. The bleeding is really the only thing that ever goes away. The rest stays. You can’t escape it, only carry it with you forever.”

It had been said that Catelyn had miscarried in the past, but it wasn’t something anyone ever really talked about, so Cersei hadn’t been certain. The swift expertise with which she cleaned her underwear, the knowledgeable way she nudged her into a warm bath, and the eerie way she spoke about loss, all more than verified the rumors.

“I’m sorry,” Cersei whispered. And she truly was. For what the woman had lost, for the mess she’d brought to her door, for all her obvious inadequacies.

Catelyn shook her head. Her voice was hard and heavy as she said, “Save your apologies for the child you’ll never meet.”

Cersei peered at her. Did she know it wasn’t a miscarriage, but an abortion? How could she? “Catelyn, I didn’t-”

“Shh!” Her hand raised to stop her. “Don’t say it. Don’t lie.”

Cersei held her tongue and slid her hand through the red water to rest on her belly. Catelyn sniffed over the sink. “Robert is not a bad man...he’s just…” She trailed off while she looked in a cupboard. “Ned’s always been fond of him.”

They were childhood friends; mutual loyalty was expected. The question was, if Catelyn was loyal to Robert by extension, and she could tell what was really happening here, why was she assisting her? “Of course,” she replied weakly.

Catelyn flicked her hair dryer on full blast, drying the scrap of fabric as quickly as she could. Cersei closed her eyes, listening to the white noise as she let the warm water calm the war in her womb. When the dryer stopped, Catelyn’s voice was hardly more than a whisper as she admitted, “Sansa tried not to tell me, but I got it out of her--as a mother can.”

Cersei’s eyes widened. What was she going to say?

Catelyn averted her gaze as she said, “She told me she saw Robert ‘being mean’ to you…”

Great. Pity was the last thing she needed.

Cersei pursed her lips. “I’m not always the nicest to him.”

“Right,” Catelyn nodded, apparently deciding not to explore this line of conversation further. She turned back towards the tub, pulling the drain and turning on the removable shower head. Again fiddling with the taps, she adjusted the temperature to luke-warm and ran the spray over Cersei, cleansing her of the bloody water. “Stand up, if you can,” she instructed.

Finding her advice helpful so far, Cersei clutched the soap dish in the wall and dragged herself up to her feet, watching the red stream between them flow down the drain. Catelyn held a towel out for her to step into and began drying her as if she were a small child. It was then that it hit her, she’d never do this for a child of her own. She’d never be a mother, not while Robert owned her. Not if she could help it.

Catelyn handed her the towel to finish while she reached under her sink and pulled out a maxi pad. Cersei listened to the echo of it crinkle open in the bathroom, and Catelyn adhering the sticky underside to the mostly dried panties, ripping it off to readjust before handing them to her. Cersei crouched to slip them on and winced in the pain behind such a maneuver. Sensing her discomfort immediately, Catelyn bent down and held them for her step into. Cersei nodded her head in silent appreciation as she did the same with her dress, helping her step into it first, before pulling it up to her waist and allowing her to take over from there, until the zipper in the back.

“Come with me,” Catelyn said, guiding her to the door. “I’ll tell Robert you miscarried and I sent you home in a car.”

_Tell Robert._

Oh no! Shit, shit, shit.

Catelyn must have seen the alarm in her eyes because she rest a palm on her forearm in as close to a soothing gesture as Cersei ever thought possible of the woman. “He’ll believe it’s true because I said it, and Ned will support my word and comfort his friend. You won’t face consequence for nature’s course.”

When Cersei stalled in the doorway, Catelyn whirled around, pulling a notepad and pen from the drawer of her hall table. She scribbled quickly. “Call this man and tell him--and _only him_ , that I sent you.”

The folded paper hung in the air, Catelyn growing impatient as she waited for her to accept it. Her hand seemed to move of its own volition, reaching for the paper without her consent. “Thank you,” she said, because she didn’t know what else to and was in the car before she realized she was stepping into it.

She glanced up at the driver, oddly anxious at the unfamiliar face. She turned in the seat to look back through the tinted window at the shrinking image of Catelyn Stark barefoot and unkempt trudging back into her estate to smooth things over. She thought wryly, if anyone could put a hair back in place, it was Catelyn Stark.

The paper read: _Luwin, OBGYN 88 Kingsroad. 101-223-8942_.

How did she know?

Cersei bit the inside of her cheek, feeling the weight of what she’d done crash down on her. She clutched herself tightly, feeling each bump in the road and picturing each baby feature she’d never know. This baby was half Robert, but it was also a part of her, and she’d sacrificed that part to be rid of the other.

“What the hell?”

She looked up at the driver’s words. It was only then that she heard the sound of an engine revving loudly around her. Surely it wasn’t the car she was in, but one sharing the road. She glanced out the window, trying to determine where it was coming from.

A motorcycle sped up on their left, passing them at a highly illegal speed. She leaned between the two front seats, trying to get a better look now that the car’s headlights lit it up. The rider wore no helmet, and had a full head of blond hair. For a moment she wondered if it was Jaime and then closed her eyes and cursed herself for being so foolish. This wasn’t a movie. It was real life. No way would he just magically materialize like that. The man probably had no idea where she was.

The loud squeal of brakes cracked her eyes open, milliseconds before she felt the smack of her chest into the seat ahead of her. Rubbing her sternum, sore from the maneuver, she started to scream at the man for his stupidity. She stopped, however, when she looked through the windshield to see the rider had sped ahead only to come to an abrupt stop and block off the road so they couldn’t get by.

His shoulders hunched, one foot set on the pavement to steady his balance on the bike and hold his ground. The familiar lion face she’d thought too good to be reality, stared back into the car’s low beams. He looked ready to pounce, slowly dismounting and stalking towards the car. She sat there frozen for only a second before she gripped the door handle and got out.

It was a humid night and fog surrounded them, obscuring their view of each other in the street lamps and moonlight. He was out of breath and so was she, their eyes positively glittering with emotion. He took a careful step forward, holding his hand out in invitation. Remembering herself and the world around her, she glanced to the driver who had also stepped out of the car.

Jaime never took his eyes from hers as he reached in his pocket and threw a small white baggy at the driver. “Fuck off,” he barked.

The man said nothing, only started a long trek down the road. Apparently, not all northerners were as loyal as they’d have one think. Cersei looked back to Jaime, noting how much closer he’d come to her.

“Cers…” The sound of his voice, so gentle for her, stole any reservation she had left. She closed her eyes and ran full-force into his waiting arms. They wrapped around her, fitting her against him, cradling her to his chest as he kissed the top of her head.

He felt so fucking right.

She sobbed incoherently into him, knowing without doubt for the first time in a very long time that it was entirely safe to.

“I know, baby. I know,” he repeated into her hair, and she wondered if he actually did know. It was silly to think he did. But he seemed to know her better than anyone else, more so than was ever reasonable. It didn’t make sense, but it was true nonetheless.

“I kkkkilled it,” she confessed, because she suddenly felt she needed to.

“Shh,” his lips moved against her forehead. “It’s okay.”

She shook her head into him, crying as she grabbed at his shirt.

It really wasn’t okay.

“You did what you needed to do,” he consoled.

“It was all I had…”

He squeezed her tighter to himself. His voice was a pained rumble as he promised, “You have me.”  

 


	7. Step Outside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neither of them looked at the other, as if too scared to catch one another’s eye and commit to anything more than that moment.

                                                              

 

 

“Look man, I get that you love her. Actually-” Tyrion shook his head. “No, I don’t get it.”

Jaime licked the whiskey off his teeth to temper his growing irritation.

Talking fast, Tyrion continued, “She definitely wouldn’t be my first choice, but that’s beside the point. You love her and want her, and-”

“Just shut up.” Jaime had been listening to it for months now.

“And she’s not yours.” He turned to look him in the eye. “I’m sorry. She’s not.” His apologetic look, while genuine, did nothing to help the situation. Feeling the weight of his brother’s regret, Jaime held his gaze until the little man lifted his glass to his lips again. Jaime was free to look away then, finding reprieve in the alcohol. That was until Tyrion quietly added, “More than that, she doesn’t want to be.”

Jaime’s head shot up, the deepest of scowls took hold of his features. “You don’t know that.”

“I don’t?” Tyrion gripped his shoulder sympathetically. “Jaime, if she wanted to be yours, she’d leave Robert.”

“She’s scared.” What woman wouldn’t be? He was Robert Baratheon, for christ’s sake!

Jaime had heard his father proclaim a thousand times that the man was like a molotov cocktail. His charm and charisma, the perfect mixture of gasoline and motor oil. His propensity to air on the heavy side of cavalier was easily the torn cloth burning at the other end of the bottle, just waiting to fuck it all up.

A few years back he was considered quite the looker too, only adding to his appeal. That was before his lifestyle caught up with him--offering love handles, at the same time sapping away his famed muscles. That didn’t seem to matter though; everyone still adored him. The Starks always would, and for whatever reason, so would the ever-loyal Arryns. Olenna liked him because he could some how finagle drugs into the north, even though the Starks were so staunchly against them. Hell, even Jaime hadn’t taken any issue with him prior to meeting his wife--prior to seeing what he did to her.

“Love takes courage.”

Jaime shook he head, unable to erase the memory of her bumps and bruises or the way she froze when he touched her neck. “Save your hallmark bullshit.”

Tyrion pressed his lips together and looked away. For a solid second, Jaime thought that might be the end of it. Of course it wasn’t. “Just one last thing and I’ll drop it. Promise.”

Jaime peered at him, neither giving him permission or outright declining to hear him.

In as solemn of an expression as any sixteen year old little brother, half drunk on shots, could muster, Tyrion said, “Don’t kill him.”

“What?” What loyalty did Tyrion have to Robert Baratheon?

“Don’t kill him to have her.” Tyrion repeated. “Or you’ll always wonder if she ever wanted you as much as you did her.”

Jaime sat stunned by the truth to his words. He was right.

He would.

Jaime knew he would.

It wasn’t that he wanted to. God knew he didn’t exactly _fall_ for women past the inevitably emotional moment after orgasm, that thankfully dissipated quickly. That’s just what did happen, however, with Cersei--the girl he couldn’t get out of his head. He knew without question that he’d met his soulmate, his other half. He wasn’t entirely sure when he’d realized it, only that she never left his thoughts and he’d give anything for her to never leave his side.

“Speak of the devil,” Tyrion’s voice filled his ears.

Jaime glanced out into the club to see Robert and his entourage enter, Cersei trailing behind him a couple of paces. That wasn’t right. Jaime would never make her walk behind him. He’d have her beside him, on his arm, her body against his, her words welcome in his ear. She would love him as much as he did her, and he would cherish her for it.

Robert raised his glass in acknowledgement as he made for his favorite booth. Jaime flashed him a fake smile and raised his own glass, noting Tyrion beside him, mirroring the gesture. It was a show of respect he didn’t particularly feel, but which he knew the use.

It wasn’t an invitation, and Jaime didn’t care to view it as one. Keeping to the bar while Robert settled himself in his usual spot, Jaime eyed the sullen blonde he’d been agonizing over as she sat beside her husband, the first of the entourage to wave her hand for a drink.

“Don’t do it.”

Jaime scowled at Tyrion. “Don’t do what?”

Tyrion sighed. “Don’t send her a drink.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Jaime argued.

Tyrion stared at him with obnoxious disbelief.

Their stare-off was interrupted by a big-breasted brunette in blue. “Hey Baby!”

Jaime quickly averted his gaze, not wanting the girl’s attention. Tyrion raised a brow at him and cracked a mischievous grin. “Not interested?”

“Fuck no,” he whispered back.

Her arms snaked around Jaime as she exclaimed, “I haven’t seen you in forever! Where you been?”

The girl suction-cupped herself to him, babbling into his neck in between kisses. On any other occasion, he would have appreciated her zealous nature. Unable to feign any interest, however, he looked over her shoulder at Cersei.

Did she not see him? Or simply not care?

Jaime ignored the giggle in his ear as he watched Robert flirt with the slutty girl on his other side, as if Cersei wasn’t even there. The fat fuck was peppering her cheek with kisses, his meaty hand on her thigh. It was to be expected that a neanderthal like Robert would reject Cersei for a little while after she “miscarried” his child, but to be so blatant about it was savage.

“Lets get out of here, Baby,” the brunette begged in his ear.

Jaime barely heard her, too preoccupied with indignation. Robert rose from the booth, taking the hand of the girl beside him. Cersei remained seated, her head turned away. So lessened by her husband’s actions, she hid behind her drink, not bothering to engage anyone around her.

Before he knew was he was doing, Jaime pried the girl off him and stood up. “Where are you going?” Tyrion asked, and then quickly exclaimed, “No! You’re not going over there!”

He most certainly was. Jaime took large strides across the club.

“Shit! Fuck! What are you doing?” Tyrion’s voice, rife with panic, lagged behind him. “Jaime!”

Robert’s men eyed him as he approached. No going back now. Jaime took a deep breath and plastered a smile on his face as he took the seat opposite Cersei. She’d been trying not to notice him, though couldn’t play oblivious now, with him right in front of her.

“ _Lannister_.”

His name was said with such highbrow inflection, that Jaime would have taken offense over it. That was, he would if he hadn’t been mesmerized by the wildfire eyes that turned to acknowledge him above her drink.

“Mandon,” Tyrion replied for him.

“Is there something you need?” Robert’s trusted right hand man asked.

Jaime stared at her, cataloging each micro-expression, looking for any sign of emotion. Preferably affection, though he would accept any attention she gave him. The silence that surrounded them only nurtured Mandon’s suspicion. Tyrion’s tiny foot kicked Jaime in the ankle, urging him to talk. Stifling a wince, Jaime thought fast. He ignored Mandon, flashing Cersei a grin as he lied, “I was looking for your husband.”

“Robert’s attending to other matters at present. State your business and I will pass it on to him when he returns,” Mandon answered, like the good little Baratheon soldier he was.

Jaime said nothing, his gaze moving from her eyes to her lips and back again. “That would be marvelous Mandon!” Tyrion exclaimed in the background. “You know, I’ve always wondered…”

He drew Mandon’s attention away with innocuous conversation that the man was too polite and well-trained to avoid. Jaime didn’t bother to verify that no one was paying attention, trusting his brother’s ability to distract. It was everything he could do not to reach across the table and hold her hand in his as he asked, “How are you?”

“Fine.” Her reply was short and hard, abrasive even.

The tone she used made him want to probe for more, but he stopped himself. “Good. I wasn’t sure. Weeks have gone by with no word…”

She set her empty glass on the table between them. “I’m fine, Jaime.”

No she wasn’t.

Frustration got the better of him and he hissed, “I would never treat you like this.”

“Stop,” she whispered.

He couldn’t. Too affronted for her, he continued, “Leave you sitting here with babysitters while I made a fool of you in the goddamned john.”

Cersei closed her eyes. “Please. Stop.”

“No,” he breathed. “I can’t. You deserve better than this.”

She shook her head, her arms dropping down to fold over her stomach. “You don’t know what I deserve.”

He glanced down, noticing the protective way she held herself. “You’ve done nothing wrong, so stop punishing yourself for...for that.”

Cersei took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling. “Go.”

Jaime clenched his jaw, refusing to be dismissed so easily. Growing bitter over such repeated rejection, he lashed out, “Perhaps you’re right. I mean it makes sense. Act like a doormat and expect to get walked on.”

Her eyes snapped open and she glared at him, her cheeks flushing with her rage. “What?”

“You heard me,” he replied through a smirk, finally feeling like he got her attention.

Cersei’s look of confusion was priceless. She’d obviously expected him to keep kissing her feet, and hadn’t anticipated his rougher edges. Had she ever experienced tough love that didn’t twist, sprain, or fracture--swell and discolor?

Taking pity on her, he elaborated, “I told you, if I had a wife, I’d treat her right. But what I didn’t say was that no woman of mine would let herself be disrespected.”

Robert never included her in the more illicit activities of his work, leaving her with no concept of just how important it was to be respected by those around her. Her naivety wouldn’t work for Jaime. He liked the way she thought, and were he to have her all to himself, he’d insist that she rule his territory with him. She would have to know the way of things.

“The Lannister Boys!”

Robert’s booming voice interrupted their private moment. Jaime to sat back into the seat, distancing himself from Cersei as he eyed Robert. The fat bastard sauntered over, absolutely glowing from blowing his load moments before. Jaime took advantage of his good mood and called back, “Robert!”

“To what do I owe the honor?” Robert slurred as he plopped down beside Cersei again.

“Just being neighborly,” Jaime grinned. “Saw you in the club, thought I’d say hi.”

“To my wife?” Robert chuckled, slinging a possessive arm around her.

Her cringe was visible to everyone but Robert, who continued to laugh obnoxiously.

Tyrion turned away from Mandon to inject himself in the conversation. “Figured we wouldn’t be waiting long.” He glanced over at Jaime and added, “What with you only taking a leak and all.”

Robert furrowed his brow at him, concentrating. Finally, it clicked and he laughed. “Yeah, right.”

Jaime heard the scream before he knew what was happening, a flurry of teeth bared and blonde hair flying. Cersei caught the girl Robert had been fucking by her hair as she walked by and yarded her back. The girl fell to the ground in front of her feet, and Cersei only used the new vantage point for more leverage, wrapping her fist in the long hair and yanking her neck back as she barked in her face. “That’s _my_ husband you dumb cunt!”

The girl wailed in pain and Cersei added insult to injury by spitting in her eye.

She beamed in her ferocity and it was as if she’d been holding a part of herself in all this time, only now finally letting it free. Any question as to whether or not she could rule left him as Jaime witnessed how perfectly suited she was to the unsavory. As quickly as she allowed her cruelty to come out and play, it was stifled with a loud crack across her face.

“Knock it off!” Robert yelled at her before he reeled back to smack her again.

Jaime was on his feet in an instant and over the table. “Get the fuck off her!”

All of Robert’s men rose from their seats. “What’s it to you?” Robert growled back at him.

“My brother takes issue with the abuse of women,” Tyrion spoke quickly, trying to defuse the situation, and avoid any suspicion that Jaime may have a vested interest in Cersei particularly. Trying to make light, he added, “He’s old fashioned like that.”

“He does, does he?” Robert answered, never taking his eyes off Jaime, now inches from his face. “It’s none of his fucking business.”

The girl Cersei schooled had shriveled away, and Cersei folded in on herself. It was a maneuver she’d obviously done a thousand times, trying to protect all her most sensitive places from attack. Seeing her like that only fixed him to fight more. Tyrion tried to impose again, “Jaime-”

“She was only teaching your whore some respect,” Jaime interrupted to defend her.

Robert laughed. “Respect? For Cersei?” He narrowed his eyes on Jaime as he spoke to his wife. “That’s funny. Aint it, Cersei?”

She held her tongue to the way he publically shamed her. A vengeful fire burned bright in her eyes, however, and it was enough to fuel Jaime’s own. Feeling bigger and stronger just by the way she looked at him, he growled at Robert, “ _Step outside!_ ”

“What?” Robert and Tyrion asked in unison. Cersei’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Are you stupid?” Robert asked a fraction of a second later than Tyrion did.

Tyrion recovered quickly. “You’ll have to excuse my brother, he isn’t himself. Caught a bad buzz tonight.”

Jaime stared Robert down. The man’s smile had faded, replaced by a seriousness that was starting to match his own. “That right?” Robert asked Tyrion.

Tyrion wedged himself between them, his little frame barely large enough to be noticed. “Yeah, definitely. Yeah. Look, we’ll get out of here. He’ll smoke a joint and lose the hair across his ass. It’ll be like it never happened.”

“Tyrion.” Jaime waited until he could see him look up in his periphery before he said, “Shut up.”

Jaime sighed and began rolling up his sleeves, knowing a facade of boredom would only enhance his presence. No one need know the surge of adrenaline that tied his stomach in knots and vibrated in his veins. “I’m going to say this again, you fat Baratheon fuck-” He paused, knowing Robert wouldn’t be able to ignore such an insult.

Robert’s eyebrows flew up, his mouth making a little ‘o’ as he looked around him. “You know you’re outnumbered here, right?”

Ignoring the obvious, Jaime continued, “Let’s take this outside.”

For whatever reason, Robert again tried to avoid altercation, “You’ve gotta know I’ll knock your fucking teeth in, kid.”

 _Kid_.

That was funny. Jaime may have only been nineteen years old, but Robert was still in his twenties. The man was in no position to act his elder. “You can try,” he taunted.

“Let’s go!” Robert barked.

They were outside in the blink of an eye, a crowd quickly forming around them. It was raining hard that night, the smell of hot pavement thick in the air. Jaime glanced around him, seeing just how many Baratheon loyals there were--much more than he’d anticipated. Cersei stood off to the side, her eyes pleading. For what, he wasn’t sure.

Tyrion gave him a sad look, so little faith. He raised his hands and called out, “Bare knuckles only--one on one! Agree?”

Robert had been rolling his own sleeves up, when he made it a point to laugh, “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t trouble any of my men with something I can easily do myself.”

Tyrion’s interference made him look weak, but it at least set the terms of the fight. Jaime unholstered both his guns and passed them to his brother for safe keeping at the same time Robert handed his own to Mandon. Clearing his throat, Jaime flashed Robert a cocky grin and made a show of loosening himself up, bouncing from the ball of one foot to the other. “ _Don’t worry_ Robert,” he mimicked. “I’ll make this quick--wouldn’t want the cardio to do you in.”

Robert cracked his meaty knuckles. “It’s men like you, think-”

“There are no men like me,” Jaime snickered, using his confidence to its full advantage.

Having enough of his lip, Robert charged towards him, snarling and uncoordinated in his scorn. Jaime waited until he was close enough before he swerved out of the way, to let Robert’s momentum work against him. Unable to resist, Jaime laughed, “Missed me.”

Straightening himself from the crowd that caught him, Robert huffed, “You’ll definitely fucking feel it when I catch you.”

“Doubt it. You may have been something a few years ago, but you’ve gotten all doughy,” Jaime teased, stepping around another attempted tackle. “I’m not a defenseless woman, Baratheon. You hit me, and I’ll hit you back.”

Robert made to hit him with his left hand, which Jaime easily ducked away from, only to be caught in the jaw with an unexpected right hook. High on the victory of first contact, Robert laughed, “Sure about that, Lannister?”

Jaime spit blood out on the pavement. Embarrassed, he kept his head down, watching from the corner of his eye as he moved. He caught sight of Cersei, her jaw clenched in what he could only hope was some level of protectiveness over him. It would give him strength to know she was supporting him.

“You know what I think, Lannister?” Robert crowed. “I think you’ve got a chubby for my wife.”

Tyrion shook his head off to the side, warning him not to admit it, not to lay it all out on the table. The petrified look on Cersei’s face beseeched him to keep their secret. Jaime ducked another punch and lied, “Don’t be stupid.”

“Always sniffing around her,” Robert laughed. “Drooling over her.”

Jaime dodged another fist, noting how much more labored Robert’s breathing was becoming.

“I told you, my brother just doesn’t like seeing women harmed,” Tyrion called out. “Too much King Arthur as a kid!”

Robert ignored Tyrion, panting through his grin, “Maybe you just don’t want me uglying her up for you.”

“Shut your mouth,” Jaime warned.

“Jokes on you, _kid_ .” Robert sneered. “That bitch isn’t worth shit. She’s _barren_.”

Something inside him snapped and he flew at Robert, closing the space between them in one large leap. His knuckles cracked into his nose, shoving his fat head back, stealing his balance. Using the opportunity, Jaime pounced on him, knocking him over. Robert’s fists came up and crushed into his sides as Jaime used the resistance of the ground beneath them to harshen each blow. The pound of his own heart was a thick bass beat between his ears, and the crowd around them a dull background distortion to the staccato of sick thuds his fists created.

“Stop! Jaime! Fuck!” Tyrion’s screams were underwater as Jaime’s body moved of its own accord, blackening Robert’s eyes, breaking his bones, and fattening his lips.

It wasn’t until his tiny hand came up and clasped his shoulder that Jaime managed to stop himself. He’d gone almost feral, and he knew if Tyrion hadn’t touched him, he wouldn’t have slowed down until Robert stopped moving.

Grunting as he rocked back, away from the bloody mess below, Jaime staggered up off Robert. Every muscle in his body was sore and each breath he took hurt him in a different place. Robert’s men peeled him up off the ground. Jaime noted with no little degree of satisfaction that it took three of them to get the bastard upright again. Mandon was quick to stand by his fallen boss. “You’re so fucked for this, Jaime!”

Jaime chuckled, his face cracked and swollen. Feeling exultant, he slapped the pack of his cigarettes against the reddened heel of his hand. He plucked one from the pack and popped it in his mouth, speaking around it as he said, “And here I was wondering whether or not I’d get lucky tonight.”

“Jaime!” Tyrion hissed from below. “Shut up and go!”

His eyes found Cersei again, expecting to see her smile proudly back at him. He was quickly let down when he saw it was not a smile that graced her lips, but instead a frown. Why wasn’t she happy? Didn’t she see? This was her chance. Jaime won. She could leave with him. Women always left with the winner. The fact that she was married, was a minor detail that could be erased with enough cash and persistence.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here, Jaime. Now!” Tyrion shoved his hip as hard as he could.

Jaime lurched forward, but refused to move until he could better gauge Cersei. Her sadness robbed him of whatever delight he took in besting her husband, as he realized she wasn’t going to be leaving with him. He scowled after her as she silently mouthed a meaningless apology before turning to follow behind Robert and his men.

“See?” Tyrion’s voice cut through him. “She’s made her choice.”

Unable to accept that, and too emotionally (and physically) drained to dispute it, Jaime lacked a response. His heart ripped from his chest, beat apart from him, bloodying the mud puddle he left it in.

And that was it. The end.

He had made a stand--vanquished the evil monster and rescued the damsel in distress. She, on the other hand, had chosen to follow the ogre back to his lair, spurning the white knight and his efforts to free her. The story of Jaime’s first true love had turned into quite the grimm fairytale.

Tyrion had a car called for them, and helped to push him into it, babbling something about the ramifications of his ‘stupid fucking young-dumb love.’ Jaime couldn’t bring himself to care, so incomprehensibly broken from the whole thing. He’d turned numb to all the pain he’d felt inside and out, all other emotion too far gone for reaction, a mere shadow of what it might have been.

Once he’d changed into dry clothes, he paced his mansion mindlessly, hoping the constant movement would dispel his body’s desire to fade away from the vibrance of life. This was heartache. This was what it felt like--all those songs and poems--all that emo shit he made fun of.

When he encountered staff asking if he had everything he needed, or politely commenting that they weren’t used to seeing him in various parts of the house, he sighed in frustration and stalked off toward his bedroom. It was as his foot touched the first step that he heard a buzz at the front gate.

It was late. Too late for visitors.

Robert’s men had probably come to get even and teach him a little lesson in respect while they were at it. Jaime made for the hall table, pulling the pistol his father, Tywin kept in it. He raised the weapon to the door, cocking it as he did.

Startled by Tyrion’s sudden presence in the open archway to the parlor, he almost fired a round at nothing. “Jesus, Tyrion!”   

“Someone’s here,” he said, completely nonplussed by Jaime’s exclamation as he slapped a full clip in his own pistol. He trudged forward, grabbing the phone on the table in the entryway with his free hand and started dialing.

“Who are you calling?”

“Kevan,” Tyrion answered. “We’re going to need the extra men if Robert’s come for revenge.”

“ _Jaime_?”

Both brothers froze at the sound of Cersei’s voice over the intercom.

Tyrion was the first to speak, “Yeah, Kevan. Nevermind. No, it’s nothing. Sorry.” He held the phone against his chest and pointed his gun at the front door, growling through pursed lips. “Sort that shit out, or I will!”

Jaime decocked the gun and set it on the table as Tyrion walked away, taking the phone with him, yanking the slack behind him. “Hello? Still there? Yeah, I know. Couldn’t stop him. Obviously…”

His voice trailed off and Jaime was thankful for it, not wanting to hear anymore how much his foolish heart had cost them. Walking toward the intercom on the wall was like walking through sludge, each step stuck to the marble floor beneath it. Sheer curiosity and a feeling he couldn’t begin to explain (but knew he’d be haunted by later), forced him forward. He stood in front of the intercom, staring at it as she plead, “Jaime? Let me in?”

Unable to find a single word to say to her, he punched the button for the gate to open. Within seconds she was at his door, her silhouette prominent in the frosted glass, accented with a false crown of gold from the overhead light shining on her blonde mane. “Jaime?” Cersei asked through the glass pane, her palm coming up to rest on it.

She uttered his name so tentatively, so much question in her voice.

Would he let her in? _Could_ he?

Jaime raised his hand to meet hers through the glass, feeling his heart beat faster. His fingers were longer, stretching further than hers, the cool textured glass the only thing keeping him from falling so completely into her again. “ _Jaime?_ ” She whispered through the door, the tremor in her voice revealing her vulnerability.

 _Join the club_ , he thought warily.

Of course, he’d let her in. He’d already come this far. He lifted his hand from the glass and gripped the doorknob. His breath caught in his lungs as he turned it and slowly opened the door. She looked angelic standing there under the light, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“ _Jaime,_ ” she gasped, worry wrinkling her brow. Her hands were on him in an instant, inspecting his injuries.

He wanted to despise how overcome she was, how suddenly emotional. He wanted to shove her back and leave her heart on the ground, show her what it felt like. Her fingers, gently ghosting over his cheekbones, her body inches from his, took all notion of retribution away. With more strength than he knew he possessed, he growled, “What do you want?”

She cleared her throat and rifled through her purse, then held up a small jar of something he’d never seen before. “Witch Hazel,” she explained. “For the bruising…”

Jaime blinked back at her, incredulous. What was she up to?

“I can...” She bit the inside of her cheek and looked away as she offered, “Put it on you.” She glanced back up at him and finished weakly. “If you want.”

It was as if he were seeing her for the very first time. Completely stripped of her hardened exterior, she was clumsily reaching out for him. Tyrion would have said that it was too little, too late.

Was love something one could ever be too late for?

Not knowing the answer, Jaime turned to show her up the stairs. The last thing he needed was for Tyrion to catch her rubbing some weird ointment on his face in the parlor. It was as he was ushering her down the hall to his bedroom, that he realized she’d never been there before, never seen his home, where he came from. It suddenly felt all so personal and he tried not to think about it as he opened his bedroom door.

She stood still for a moment, pausing to take in her surroundings. His eyes moved with hers, self-conscious of the decor. Did she like it? Did it matter? Her small hand squeezed his as she stepped forward, tugging him to follow. Jaime let himself be lead toward his bed, his heart speeding up with what it implied.

“Sit,” she said.

Jaime complied, perching on the edge and spreading his knees when she nudged them with her own. She stepped between his thighs and looked down at him, taking his face in her hands. Jaime allowed her to lift his head, and closed his eyes as she unscrewed the cap to dab the lotion on various parts of his face. His hands found her hips before he could stop them, bracing himself for the comfort of her touch.

He knew he should say something to her, tell her how he felt, how he hurt. His lips failed to issue the chastising she deserved, however. All that seemed to matter anymore was that she was there, in the flesh. Fingers dug into her hips as he leaned forward out of her grasp, resting his cheek against the warmth of her belly. She didn’t resist, only moved to rake her fingers through his hair.

She smelled of expensive perfume and the remnants of the last cigarette she’d smoked. He turned to press his nose into her, inhaling deeply to better overwhelm himself with her. Faint traces of her womanhood emanated from below and teased a need he already suffered. Releasing her hips, he let his palms drag down her legs until they reached the hem of her skirt. He didn’t bother to look up or ask permission before he let them slide back up over her naked thighs.

“ _Jaime_ ,” she breathed when he gripped the waistband of her panties and pulled them down, pressing kisses through her dress. Her hands left his head, and moved to his neck, holding it to her as his fingers found her opening, verifying her returned desire for him.

He pulled his finger from her, his hands instantly working his fly to free the erection that had been steadily growing since he’d opened his door to see her wracked with emotion--for him. Her hands moved to his shoulders to brace herself, straddling him as quickly as he pushed his pants to his knees, letting them drop to his ankles. He hissed through the sharp pain in his sides--his cracked ribs protesting the weight of her body as she sank down onto him. It was bittersweet, the pain of such intimacy and the bliss of it. Finding pleasure in the reality of both, he held her close and rest his head on her chest.

Her moans were music--beautiful and unrestrained, and he peeled the top of her dress down just to feel her bare against his cheek while she enveloped him. He pressed his ear over her heart to listen to its unique rhythm as she rocked in his lap, taking him deeper into herself. Each time she sped up, he slowed her down, needing time to lose its limits and last forever.

Sensation built upon itself in the friction, taking forever further away from him with each glorious slide. Her grip on his shoulders tightened when she came around him, panting desperately above his head, trembling in his arms. While he loathed to know the end was near, he relished the ecstasy their bodies brought each other. The feel of her fingers digging in the knots of muscle in his shoulders and back as she whimpered the last of her orgasm, snapped the thin cord of self-control he’d tethered himself with. He coughed in surprise as he came so suddenly, his arms clamping tight around her to hold her still in his lap while he pulsed violently inside her.

His grip loosened when he had nothing left to give, every last drop of him drained--including his will. Unable to let her go, he prayed she wouldn’t pull away.

She didn’t.

Not for a long time.

When she finally stirred, he found the strength to let her go and stood to pull his pants up while she hooked her arms in her sleeves again, tucking her breasts back into her dress. Neither of them looked at the other, as if too scared to catch the one another’s eye and commit to anything more than that moment.

He had wanted forever.

With more courage than he’d needed to brawl with Robert Baratheon, Jaime forced himself to look at her as he said, “I want-” He stopped himself and corrected, “I _love_ you.”

Her eyes widened and she gulped at the lump in her throat. “Jaime, I-”

“If you feel the same about me,” he interrupted her, unable to cope if she said she didn’t. “You have to leave him.”

Her eyes were soft and he knew she was preparing to give him an excuse. Unwilling to hear it, he pressed on, “I can’t keep doing this, Cersei. I can’t keep chasing you.” Tyrion’s words rang true in his head and he reached for her hand, kissing it. “Either you want me too, or you don’t.”

She wiped the tears from her eyes, sniffing a couple of times as she gathered herself. What had been an affectionate gaze turned steely. Her pupils constricted as she stepped back and said only, “I understand.”

Before he could ask if she truly did, she’d turned on her heel and was out the door. Jaime knew he could catch her down the hall, stop her on the staircase, leap in front of the door if necessary. The urge to do so was definitely strong, but the knowledge that she needed to return his love, sat heavy and left him standing alone in his bedroom, wondering if he’d truly lost her this time.  

 

 

 


	8. Hear Me Roar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It became this weird game of cat and mouse where she lead him around, carefully stepping to balance the danger he alone presented with what his position afforded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING: Rape & Sexual Violence

 

 

_Drip..._

_Drip..._

_Drip..._

_...Tap..._

_...Tap..._

_Pat...pat...pat...pat_

Strange how the sound changed once it pooled.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

Emergency?

Was it really an emergency anymore?

It had definitely been one then. Everything had smudged together in such messy untamed urgency. Cersei touched her fingers to the pounding pain in her forehead. People always say, _It happened so fast._

But it hadn’t.

It really hadn’t happened fast at all. It felt like forever, and strangely, _never_. This wasn’t supposed to happen. It wouldn’t have either, if it hadn’t have been for him--the hot young buck who caught her scent. He had pursued her as if she were worth the trouble to, and he stood for her--helping her in her darkest hour, kicking Robert’s ass.

Little Sansa Stark suggested (in her adorable childlike way) that Jaime Lannister was Cersei’s Prince Charming. It made sense, didn’t it? Prince Charming always saved his princess, and Cersei definitely needed saving. Pushing evil whore stepsisters aside and slashing through miles of briar, he kissed her to consciousness, clearing the blurry spell of complacency from her eyes. Jaime came charging in at a time when she’d long since put the idea of a hero behind her.

It wasn’t as easy as all that fairytale nonsense though, was it? She had thought Robert a prince once, rescuing her from squalor and the inevitability of lifetime poverty. How quickly the abrasions of bare knuckles disabused her of that notion--scarring her heart with each concussion and swollen lip.

There was always a price to pay, wasn’t there? Robert sent that message loud and clear: Be my wife. Live in my mansion. _Give me your beauty_ . Wear my ring. Use my name. _Feel my fist._ Take my love. Spend my money. _Bear me children._

Why should Jaime Lannister be any different? Just another Prince Charming. What did he want in exchange for such a rescue?

_You have to leave him._

Loyalty.

And all that meant to a man, coming from a woman. Earlier that night--before it all took a sour turn, she pondered that truth alone in the bath. Cersei let her eyes drop down to the juncture between her legs. He’d helped her rid herself of what would grow to be an albatross, replacing it with only a faint tinge of regret. For what purpose of his own? Had he cleared the path for his own progeny? For a man who claimed he wanted no commitment, he had invested more than her husband ever had.

Jaime said things like, _Lions are meant to be free._ Yet, he saddled her with such an ultimatum. _If you feel the same about me, you have to leave him._ It wasn’t fair of him to demand such a thing. She’d been teetering on the edge of suicide the night she met the new Lannister head, and found some footing when she decided to learn what she needed from him. In that moment, she found the will to live, and to kill.

Then everything else happened, and Robert suddenly didn’t seem to occupy so much of her head or her heart anymore. He lingered in the background, while Jaime took center stage. Surfacing only to give her a shiner or remark on how greatly she disappointed, Robert reminded her of his presence from time to time. Since the loss of his baby, he hadn’t bothered to do even that as much.

With him proving to be less and less of a threat, freeing herself from him had taken a backseat. It was a much needed slap across the face when Jaime recalled her goal, even going so far as to _require_ it of her. They’d been amorously wrapped in vulnerability, raw passion melting their clothes away and connecting them on every level until they were completely joined, hearts beating and lungs breathing as one. Her entire body burned with the stimulation, radiating from her core and reaching out to curl her toes and dampen her brow. It was easy to float adrift in a love that so fully encompassed.  

Losing herself in him and what they shared, Cersei couldn’t say which parts were her and which were him. A sense of wholeness she hadn’t ever conceived of came over her, and she fought tears as he pulsed inside her. They’d both been with others before, but something about the way he held her, about the way he came for her, made it all seem like it was the only time they’d ever truly done it--and perhaps it was. Had she only now experienced the difference between fucking and making love?

His words, as they found their clothing again, were a frosty shock to her system. He set a limit--gave her a condition. Love most certainly came with a price, even from Prince Charming. What would Sansa say to that little reality? Cersei wondered if she’d live long enough to see the girl realize it.

Divided again, one was torn to make two. Ducking away from Jaime, she needed time to think--to heal. The days passed into weeks, Robert’s bruises had turned yellow, the swelling gone down to his normally puffy fat face. Embarrassed by his loss, he stayed away from everyone, sending Mandon to carry out his affairs. Whores were brought in, paraded through the front door without any attempt to hide them. One might think that would have upset her more, to have her face so thoroughly rubbed in her husband’s lechery, but it was quite the opposite. It had been a relief to put all pretense aside, to admit so freely how unwanted she was.

Part of her toyed with the idea of walking out. She’d pack her bags to the soundtrack of him heaving and hyperventilating mid-fuck in the next room over, and waltz out the front door, no one caring enough to stop her. Perhaps to be on the safe side, she’d only take the clothing on her back--sure to wear her favorite outfit and load up on pawnable jewelry to accessorize. Her largest Chanel bag would fit another pair of clothes. The men that guarded their home wouldn’t think anything of her so dressed up, since she’d certainly wandered out in worse on the tail end of a blotter binge.

Where would she go?

Straight to Jaime’s? She’d just climb from one man’s bed to another’s, as if she couldn’t make it on her own. Could she even if she wanted to?

She’d been poor before, but at least she had her family back then. If they found out she gave up her meal ticket, they wouldn’t take her back. A bruise here and there was nothing compared to a full belly in their eyes. More than that, if she did go it solo, would Jaime and her still be a thing? It was doubtful that he’d pick her up and drop her off on the street after each date.

Cersei blew the foamy bath bubbles from her fingers to see the rich red nail polish shining back at her. The day Jaime shot up the nail salon, she pocketed _Her Majesty’s Red_. It wasn’t that she lacked the cash to pay for it, only that it was another one of their little secrets. She moved the bottle from purse to purse, keeping it in the most subtle of pockets, as she did the bright red lock of Sansa’s hair and the spare key to the first lamborghini Robert ever gave her--the car he purchased her with. Cersei refused to ever forget her worth.

She would take those things with her when the time was right. Whenever that would be. Taking another sip off her glass, she let the vodka-tonic tickle its way over her taste buds before resting her head on the back of the tub. The water was warm and soothing, washing clean the caked and crusted filth of Robert’s presence.

That was until he graced her with it.

She’d heard him clomping around the bedroom, and figured he’d pass her by as he had many nights. When the door to the bathroom opened, and the putrid scent of sweat and alcohol seeping through pores hit the air, every muscle in her body tensed as she gripped the side of the tub. Cersei said nothing, knowing better than to utter a peep when he was in such a state.

“There she is,” he uttered through a sick smile, leaning against the doorframe. His voice turned sing-song, mocking, “The whore that started a war.”

“I didn’t-” She started to deny, but stopped herself when she saw him moving.

“Didn’t what?” He challenged, lumbering forward, each step barely catching him from collapse. He knelt down beside the tub, and grabbed her by the jaw. “Your pretty little pinched face didn’t charm Jaime Lannister? Hmm?” His face hovered inches from hers, his stale breath engulfing her.

Cersei said nothing, breathing in what little oxygen she could. There was no right answer, so again she said nothing when his meaty paw dropped down to her breast and squeezed it viciously. “Was it these tits that did it?” He palmed them harder as he growled, “They’re perfect, after all. I picked them out myself.”

She drew a deep breath, pushing her breast further into his palm in challenge. There was an odd sense of courage that came in knowing any move could be your last. He squeezed harder, and she bit the inside of her cheek to disperse the pain to other parts of her body, needing to distract the area under attack.

The sharp pin-prick of knife point pierced her flesh and she fought the urge to look down to her sternum, knowing already that he’d pulled his pocket knife. “I could always take them back, you know,” he taunted.

 _Go ahead_ , she thought bitterly. _The uglier I am, the less you’ll touch me._

“No.” Seeing the defiance in her eyes, he released her breast and dropped his hand down into the water, cupping her between the legs and gripping tightly. “I know better. It was this that fucked it all up, wasn’t it?” His laugh was sick and moist against her cheek. “Your cunt called to him.”

Not daring to voice a protest, she merely shook her head to deny it.

His fingers probed for her opening and entered it without preparation or preamble. Calloused knuckles scraped against her insides at the same time his thumb pressed down hard against her clit, holding onto her so indecently. “What’s the matter? Thought you loved to fuck.”

“ _Robert_ ,” she gasped, the pain becoming too much.

“That’s why you screw around, isn’t it?” The knife dragged up to her throat as he rammed his fat fingers deeper. Her feet scrambled to lift her hips and relieve the pressure of his fist and move her head away from the blade he held under her chin. The bottom of the tub was too slippery and she just sloshed around for his perverted amusement. “Thought I didn’t know about that, huh? My wife, the whore.”

“No,” she lied, hoping it would keep her safe.

He leaned in, his eyes bloodshot and dilated with inebriation, and arousal. She didn’t think it was her naked form in the bath, so much as the torment he brought it, that set off his libedo. Robert had always been hot-headed and filled with a bitterness he used his fists to work through, never overtly cruel though. Each time he beat her or overpowered her, he had done so because he was emotional, and stopped caring about her wellbeing. This time, however, he seemed to enjoy her pain. Something had changed.

A whole new fear washed over her as she realized she could no longer predict his next move. He pulled his fingers from her suddenly and he lurched up onto his feet. “Get up,” he commanded.

Frozen in place, Cersei gaped up at him.

He grabbed a fist full of her hair and yanked her towards him, her neck cracking and luckily not breaking with the sharp movement. “Robert!” She screamed as he pulled her from the tub. “Stop! Please!”

He towed her behind him, her wet feet slipping and sliding out from under her on the tile floor. She grabbed the frame of the door, fighting to stay put. Cersei had no idea where he was bringing her, only that no matter where it was, it would only be worse for her if he succeeded. He yanked her hair back, pulling a clump of it out by the root. Fingernails scraped into the wood as she fell back, splinters embedding deep.

“Get on the bed!”

Part of her considered it. She would let him climb on top of her, and let him grunt his frustration out so he’d leave her alone. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t suffered his pathetic cock countless times before. Another part of her was too cautious to give in. He was not himself and she wasn’t sure a raw fuck was all he was capable of in that moment. Robert pushed her down on the bed and growled, “You’re worthless to me, you know that?”

He pulled his wallet from his pants and threw it at her face. “You cost me money.”

She flinched when it slapped her hard in the cheek, and she hated herself for such weakness. He pulled his shirt off over his head, showing his flabby chest. “You fuck around on me.” Cersei bit back the obvious response that fidelity wasn’t his strong suit either and crawled up to the head of the bed as his hands reached for the buckle on his pants. “All you had to do was give me sons.”

Knowing it would be suspicious if she didn’t at least try to sound innocent, she whined, “It wasn’t my fault!”

“That little shit may be willing to spit in my face and fuck up treaties for a chance at your snatch, but it’s mine to wreck.” He wriggled his disgusting erection out of his pants, giving it a stroke as he said, “I don’t care how many babies you lose, I’m going to keep knocking you up until you give me the son I deserve!”

“No! Robert!” She plead, clenching her legs closed and clutching at the pillow she tried to cover herself with.

One rough hand grabbed her ankle, dragging her down toward him. The force of it spread her legs open and before she could shut them, he had dropped his weight down on her, his body prying her thighs further apart. Panic rose in her throat and though she was gasping, the air never entered her lungs. Tears blurred her vision as she clawed at anything she could reach with all her might, writhing below him, terrified that she wouldn’t live through such violation.

Sweat dripped from his forehead onto hers and she gagged at the stench of tooth decay and alcohol panted above her between sick chuckles. He dropped the knife he was holding on the bed beside them, teasing as he said, “Come on Cersei, we both know you love a good fuck.” His hand now freed, went straight for her throat.

She froze under the crush of his grip, unable to fight or resist. His cock rushed her insides, bruising tender tissue with its brutal intrusion. “Does Jaime know?” Spit flew from his face as he growled the question.

Torn apart from the inside-out, Cersei stared at the ceiling, trying to fly away, far above the pain every inch of her cried out in. “Hmm?” Robert asked, dragging his tongue in a long vulgar lick over her cheek. “Does your loverboy know how much of a whore you are?”

Tears rolled in endless rivers down over her temples. His fingers tightened and she tried to cough to get more air, his thrusts more and more ruthless. “What would he say if he saw you now?”

She closed her eyes, letting Jaime fill her thoughts: the gold of his hair, the ripple of his abs, the square of his jaw, the downy hair that trailed over his navel and under his waistband. “Just laying here and letting me fuck the cunt he covets?” Robert’s voice tainted the memory of Jaime’s confident grin.

Cringing at the thought of Jaime seeing her so ravaged--of seeing herself like that, the will to fight back began to stir inside her. Cersei felt herself fall back down into her body, throbbing in pain. Robert’s blue eyes hovered above her, filled with a poison that darkened azure to navy. Drawing strength from life, she contrasted the lush green of Jaime’s eyes, so vibrant and filled with a passion almost too much for his body to contain. Perhaps that’s why they fit so perfectly, her body shouldering the burden of such spirit for him.

For him.

They fit so perfectly.

_What would he say if he saw you now?_

Her hand ran over the bed beside her before she knew she was even capable of moving it, hunting for the weapon Robert had discarded in favor of her throat. The sharp blade sliced her finger open, and she couldn’t have cared less, feeling for the handle. Her body had already been so wounded that she barely felt a clean cut.

For weeks Robert treated her like a leper, letting himself heal and avoiding any possible interaction with her. At first she’d been frightened to be near him, worried he’d take his fight with Jaime out on her. When the days passed without injury, she naively allowed herself to relax and believe she might not suffer his vengeance for such a public besting by Jaime.

The other shoe just hadn’t dropped yet.

Not until that night.

Fingers brushed over the smooth ridges of the handle, and curled to gain purchase on the instrument until it sat solid in her fist. Her grip tightened until it went numb, fusing her palm around the weapon.

_Lions are meant to be free._

Robert’s obscene grunts of power and dominance matched the animalistic way he rutted. Unable to withstand even just one more thrust or breath or sound, Cersei rallied all the strength she had, and brought the blade down, sinking it deep into his back. Robert called out in agony and reeled back, his eyes wide in shock.

He staggered back a couple of steps, his arms flailing to pull the blade out, unable to reach it. Not wasting the opportunity, Cersei slid out from under him, falling from the bed and using the nightstand to pull herself up.

“Cersei! You rotten bitch!” There was no malice in the exclamation, only a hefty dose of misplaced mirth. “I didn’t think you had it in you!” As if suddenly indestructible, he laughed at her first attempt at murder. The bloodshot eyes told her he was on something more than just booze, but the crazy way he felt no pain and only amusement confirmed it was definitely speed.

She backed her way out of the bedroom door, crashing against the table in the hallway. Now what? Fuck. She hadn’t thought that far ahead! He was so big and she so small. Naked and vulnerable in the hallway, she blinked back at him a few times as he plodded toward her. Fuck! He wasn’t stopping.

It had been a relatively small knife--one that fit in his pocket. Of course it wouldn’t be enough to stop the bastard. Clothing and a thick layer of fat to protect all his vital organs. What vital organ dwelled in a back anyway? Cersei scurried down the hall, whipping past door after door as she put more distance between them. She could hear him behind her, taunting and mocking, crashing and banging.

“Cersei!”

“Cersei, girl!” He whistled as one would a dog. “Come here!”

“I got a new credit card for ya!” He laughed as he followed. “You gold-digging slut!”

She had to think fast. If he caught her, no apology would stop him from strangling her to death. Defending herself would only set him off more. If she stabbed him, she’d have to let herself get close to him again, and the only thing keeping her alive was the fact that she was faster.

His men were outside. If he got to the door before her, she was dead. Cersei veered left through the living room, making sure he saw her to follow, staggering behind. It became this weird game of cat and mouse where she lead him around, carefully stepping to balance the danger he alone presented with what his position afforded.

A gunshot cracked through the air and ice shot through her veins. He had drawn his gun, alerting anyone within a mile radius of them. His men came crashing through the front door to come to his assistance. She held her palms up at them as she ran, hoping they would think Robert was firing after an intruder rather than that he’d been shooting an unarmed woman--his legal wife, no less. It would buy her more time until she found a gun of her own.

Now, where did he keep them? Usually haphazardly laying around.

She ran to the closet, shutting the door behind her and propping an umbrella under the knob, as if that might impede them any. Trembling hands rifled through the pockets of every blazer and coat she could find, his hollering in the background only adding to her frenzy. A loud bang warned her all to late that he was close, the bullet that accompanied the sound, grazed the outside of her thigh. She yelped and dropped to the ground, the pain too severe to stand. It was while on the ground, laying naked amongst the boots and shoes that she found a holster that had dropped from the hanger. The guns were still packed in it, sitting on top of a pair of his handmade italians.

Hope jumped from the pit of her stomach to the center of her chest, too large to sit tight. Lunging for the guns, she snatched them both up. Too desperate to check if they were loaded, she cocked the one in her right hand first and aimed through the door. She pulled the trigger and felt the barrel tip, not that she could get a good aim shooting blind in the first place.

“Woo-hoo-hoo!” Robert mocked her retaliation.

She hesitated, her heart demanding she breathe and her lungs unable to keep up. Fucking cigarettes!

“Whoever kills my wife gets a-” He paused to cough, “A steak dinner! On me!”

“Are you alright?”

It was Mandon asking, Cersei could tell by the voice. He’d chosen to ignore Robert’s twisted sense of humor, in favor of kissing his ass instead.

“Yes! Get her!” Robert growled.

Cersei curled up in the far corner as the shots fired; bullets and bits of sheet rock whizzed past. They weren’t firing far enough to the edges, underestimating the size of the closet, and it was by the grace of their blind spot that she was still alive. Shivering on the floor, she waited until they were out of bullets and Mandon called the asinine order to charge forward.

She was just one girl, and they a bunch of big men. Why wouldn’t they charge unarmed into a coat closet? So what if she had a gun, it wasn’t as if she knew how to use it.

Locking both elbows, Cersei gripped the guns tightly. The door broke open, splinters of wood where the latch was, flew off and hit the coats hanging. Their faces screwed in concentration as they looked for her changed quickly to surprise when they saw the gun barrels pointing up at them. She didn’t have to be a good aim at this distance and everyone knew it.

 _Squeeze--don’t pull_ , she told herself.

She kept firing after she’d killed the first one, not sure when to stop. Everything sounded underwater to her, though she knew it was adrenaline. It wasn’t until that one had sunk to his knees that she tilted to catch the next.

 _Pulling tips the barrel_ , Jaime’s voice reminded her.

It was Mandon, weilding a huge knife. Each time she shot, she chided herself for such a hasty squeeze, too on the brink of a pull. Like the one before him, he dropped long before she knew to move on. He caught her calf with the blade as he felt, slicing it open. She yelped at the sharp pain, lowering her guns momentarily.

The third target to clamor over his men was Robert himself, his face beat red with anger, exertion, and if she were lucky, some internal bleeding. He said something, something she’d never know because she forgot her pain and pulled the trigger as hard as she could. When she hit him in the shoulder, she pulled it again and again. Too scared to heed Jaime’s teaching, her aim was erratic, desperate to catch anything vital.

In that small space, with him so large, she definitely had. Many times over. Yet, he still shuffled toward her, reaching for her throat as he fell to the ground. She was out of bullets and he was still alive, pinning her in his death grip against the back of the closet.

Everything went extraordinarily quiet, but for the sounds of their wheezing, and the claw of her nails on his arm and down the wall as darkness crowded in on her sight. No matter how hard she fought, he’d always be stronger. She would have felt herself foolish for even attempting to challenge him, as if she had any other choice. If this was how things were going to end, then so be it.

Her eyes kept closing, taking longer and longer to open, until they stopped trying. The vows had said, _In death do us part._ Robert had made sure that not even that finality would separate them. When Cersei woke, it was neither in Heaven or Hell as she had expected, but instead right where she’d lost consciousness--with Robert’s lifeless meathooks wrapped around her throat.

She threw them off of her and crawled out from under him, climbing over the pile of bodies that had accumulated at the door. Taking a tentative step out into the hallway, she looked around. Where was everyone? Had it only been two men that came to Robert’s aid when they heard gunshots?

It was then that memory hit her. Robert had given everyone the night off for a major boxing match. The prize fight, title match was a big deal that everyone was attending. She had wondered why he hadn’t gone--why she hadn’t been dragged along to glitter on his arm. Had he stayed back to rid himself of her once and for all?

Her legs wobbled with each step and then collapsed out from under her once she reached the phone on the wall, taking it to the ground with her. It was all so excruciatingly quiet and still, no motion or sound around her but the involuntary drip of blood and the rasp of her own shallow breath. Fingers dialed without direction and the all too calm voice on the other end asked, “9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

She looked down at her lap, covered in blood and grime and rubbed at it with her free hand, smearing it until she saw clean flesh below. What was she doing? The whole thing had been messy, but the danger had gone. People like them didn’t call 9-1-1. She knew better than that.

Clearing her throat of the imaginary ground glass that grated, Cersei put aside the silly notion that it might kill her if she spoke. “Ss-” She coughed. Her stomach lurched, forcing her to swallow back the acid that crept up her esophagus. “Sorry, wrong number.”

“Ma’am?”

“My children dialed you by accident,” she lied. “Sorry for the inconvenience.” She let the phone click down on the hook and clutched it close to her chest.

It would be a matter of hours before the rest of the men got back. Then what would happen? She had never killed anyone before, let alone someone like Robert. Her fantasies had never taken her this far.

Again, her fingers moved of their own accord and the phone was ringing in her ear as she worked to calm herself. Each long, unanswered ring had her wavering and ready to hang up. She startled when the ringing stopped and she heard men carousing in the background, laughing and yelling. Jaime’s familiar voice answered, “Hello?”

“Jaime.” Tears welled in her eyes.

“Cers?” He asked. When she didn’t answer--too overcome with emotion to speak, he asked again, “Cers?”

Staring at a pile of dead men, she whispered, _“Help me._ ”

 

 


	9. Opinions of Sheep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wildfire in her eyes raged out of control with murderous memories.

                                                                    

  

 

 

 

> _She stood trembling in the doorway waiting for him, her eyes wide with what she’d done. He ran to hold her as soon as he saw her, feeling her shiver in his arms. Pressing kisses to her cheek, he stroked her hair and promised it would be alright, not yet knowing the extent of things. Tyrion cleared his throat behind them, reminding him of his presence and his judgement. “Let’s have a look, shall we?”_

 

“I’m assuming the fact that Robert’s wife is just your type, doesn’t have a single thing to do with your decision,” Olenna Tyrell eyed him shrewdly.

Jaime glanced around the table to the other bosses in attendance, every territory represented. All were affected by Robert’s death on different levels, the most visibly so being Ned Stark. Tyrion answered for them, “Right to the point, I see. Father always said you weren’t one to mince words.”

“A territory is currently unoccupied. There isn’t much time for pussy-footing around,” Jon Arryn pointed out. His wife, Lysa smirked to the side of him.

“It’s not unoccupied.” Jaime took a drink from his glass. “I should hope I made that clear enough.”

 

 

> _It was a mess. A bloody, sloppy mess. When Cersei told him that she killed them all, he believed her. No trained professional would have put more bullets in the plaster than the men they’d aimed for. It was uncoordinated and panicked, and it meant the end of the Baratheon family in this city._
> 
> _He pulled a cigarette from his pack and handed it to her. She put it to her lips, though paid no attention to herself doing it, so automated the response. As he lit it for her, he explained, “It will help with the vomiting.”_
> 
> _“Why are we here, cleaning up her mess?” Tyrion hissed._
> 
> _Jaime pulled his brother away from earshot. “You said she needed to leave him, to prove herself to me. She did.”_
> 
> _“She fucking killed him, Jaime!”_
> 
> _Jaime glanced back to her, standing over Robert’s body. “What better show of loyalty?”_
> 
> _“You so sure that’s why she did it?”_

 

“Oh yeah, a dick in the mouth definitely makes that clear,” Lysa barked. Her sister, Catelyn Stark ducked her head in embarrassment. Lysa had always been one to microwave with the door open, most likely to say the unsavory. Tullys had money and Jon Arryn wasn’t a stupid man, he enjoyed his bread buttered as much as the next guy. Cursed though he may be now with his bride.

Tyrion leaned forward. “My brother and I thought it important to send a message, should there be any question as to our intent.”

 

 

> _“They can’t know it was her.” Jaime stared down at Robert’s body hanging half in the closet. “She’s got no one. They’ll kill her for this.”  
>  _
> 
> _“You don’t say,” Tyrion growled. He shoved his gun in the back of his pants and crawled over Robert. His hands went for the dead man’s belt and started to unfasten it._
> 
> _“What are you doing?”_
> 
> _Tyrion started to wrestle his pants down. “Throwing the scent off your girl.” His little fist came up by his face, as he pointed fiercely at Jaime. “You owe me for this.”_

 

The Starks had been quiet until now. A low rumble emitted from across the table, threatening to shake the drinks with it’s intensity. “Mutilating corpses…”

Jaime looked up at Ned, who hadn’t done more than scowl since arriving. He said nothing as he eyed the mighty head to the Stark Wolf Pack.

 

 

> _“That’s fucking disgusting.”  
>  _
> 
> _“Yes. It is. Now help me get his pants down.”_
> 
> _“I’ll do it.”_
> 
> _He looked up, startled by her soft voice calling from above. “No, Cersei. It’s alright. You’ve done enough. Why don’t you have a drink?”_
> 
> _In one swift motion she dropped down to her knees beside the body of her late husband and took the knife from Tyrion’s hand. She never once looked at either of them as she gripped Robert’s flacid penis and severed it from his body._
> 
> _Jaime’s eyes met Tyrion’s. His little brother had seemed so sure of himself before, though now in the middle of the gruesome act, had stalled._
> 
> _“Open his mouth,” Jaime took over, not knowing where the idea came from._
> 
> _Tyrion obeyed. Cersei looked up at Jaime, as if to ask for approval. Somehow so completely on the same wavelength, he nodded back to her. She leaned forward and crammed the appendage in Robert’s slack jaw._

 

Steeling his nerves against the very real threat that lurked on the faces of all the bosses that surrounded, Jaime remembered his confidence. He inherited the Lannisters and he would rule them the way his father would have wanted. Flashing Ned a smirk, he countered, “Lets not pretend he deserved any more than he got.”

“He deserved a damn sight more than you!” Ned yelled back, posed to pounce.

“And why is that?” Jaime asked, anxiety leaving him over the promise of violence. There was no unknown threat to fighting, it all making much more sense than the politics he muddled through in his new found position. “Because he had his seat of power longer? Because he ate your wife’s meatloaf--assuming that’s all he ate. He did have quite the reputation, after all.”

“No different than yours,” Catelyn hissed from her seat, apparently not appreciating any adulterous accusations.

Jaime had to laugh at that. “Touche.”

Ned’s face turned a dark shade of red. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t shove my fist so far down your throat, you’re shitting my fingers.”

“Ned!” Catelyn scolded her husband’s crass tongue.

He kept his glare fixed on Jaime as he apologized, “Sorry, love. It’s the only way men like him understand anything.”

Jaime shook his head and refilled his glass. “I’ll tell you what I told your pathetic-fuck friend.” He raised the glass to his lips and flashed him his fang. “There are no men like me.”

“Why now?”

It was Olenna that had asked the question, interrupting the flow of testosterone in her obnoxiously calm manner. Where Jaime had been feeling his adrenaline rush, ready to brawl, Tyrion had been much more cognizant and responded to her question with one of his own, “Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters,” Arryn jumped in.

Tyrion didn’t miss a beat. “I would argue that it doesn’t.”

Though Olenna was quite human, she spoke at times in a way that made one feel as though she were an old god, come down from her heaven to pass judgement on the mere mortals around her. She glanced to Catelyn, speaking a secret language that appeared to have nothing to do with their sex, as Lysa was oblivious to it. “What don’t you want us to know, Lannisters?”

When neither Jaime nor Tyrion offered more than their stare, Catelyn spoke suspiciously, “They say Robert and Jaime fought publically a week or so before the night he was.. _._ ” Her voice trailed off as though even just simply saying ‘murdered’ would have been too uncouth for her, let alone the other truths to Robert’s demise.

Ned grunted at that. “It’s no secret you wanted the man’s wife,” he seconded Olenna’s original observation. Good ol’ Ned was always slow to the show.

 

 

> _“She can’t be there, Jaime.”_
> 
> _“Fuck you, she can’t be there.” Jaime protested. She was his now. He told her things would be different, and they would be. “She’s with me, Tyrion. She goes where I go. Get used to it!”_
> 
> _Tyrion sighed. “I mean, it’s not safe for her there.”_
> 
> _“I’ll keep her safe.”_
> 
> _“You’ll have your hands full trying to keep the families calm. She’s better left tucked away where it’s safe until the dust settles,” Tyrion argued. “I know you want her. But you want her alive, don’t you?”_

 

Jaime thought about denying it. He thought about shrugging off the idea that a woman--any woman, had the capacity to motivate him to do anything at all, let alone wipe out a lineage. How would that look, denying it now only to present her proudly soon after ‘the dust had settled.’

No.

That wasn’t the way to go about it. He wasn’t even entirely sure leaving her at home was the right move either. Jaime pulled himself away from the doubt that crept in, knowing it would only be his undoing in front of so many deadly witnesses. He forced his grin to widen. “And it’s no secret he didn’t. Perhaps we did each other a favor.”

“Mind your tongue,” Ned warned.

Jaime feigned ignorance. “I’m not saying anything we don’t all know already. Your best bud would rather beat his wife than fuck her.”

Ned was on his feet in the blink of an eye, the veins popping to either side of his neck. “You dare to dishonor him further in my presence?”

“I dare to speak the truth.” Jaime rose from his seat to meet him eye to eye.

“Ned,” Catelyn’s voice called from below. She too rose from her seat and gripped her husband’s arm. “Cersei was…” She faltered a little, her gaze cast down, as if suddenly ashamed. Her voice was barely above a whisper as she admitted, “Robert wasn’t as kind in his marriage as you are in ours.”

 

 

> _“No! Don’t!”  
>  _
> 
> _Jaime froze, fingers wrapped around the curious red lock of hair in her purse. “Who’s is this?”_
> 
> _“Leave it alone,” she plead, snatching her purse from him. It had been the most she’d moved in the last half hour while Jaime and Tyrion had Robert’s body drug out._
> 
> _Jaime had been reaching in there for something to take the edge off, knowing she was  always packing something in her purse. He smiled at the familiar nail polish he’d found, remembering the day he picked it out for her, though was taken aback to find a lock of hair stowed away. It didn’t match anyone he knew. What could she possibly be doing with it? What secrets did she keep? “If it didn’t matter, you wouldn’t be so protective of it.”_
> 
> _She sighed, guilty of a crime he couldn’t place. “It’s Sansa Stark’s.”_
> 
> _“Who?” He’d never heard the name. Well, the first name. Jaime had definitely heard the last name before._
> 
> _She nodded. “She’s Ned and Cat’s oldest daughter.”_
> 
> _“Why is her hair in your purse?”_
> 
> _“She gave it to me.”_
> 
> _Jaime eyed her skeptically. “And you kept it?”_
> 
> _Cersei shoved the lock deep down in her purse, hiding it away from the world again. “Yes. Robert and I visited often. The girl and I...she matters to me.”_
> 
> _“Not if she’s a Stark,” Tyrion interrupted, snapping his fingers at the two goons carrying Robert’s body. “Without Robert, the Starks will want nothing to do with you now. You’ll be lucky if they don’t try to kill you.”_
> 
> _Alarmed by the prospect, Cersei shot Jaime a look and he gripped her hand. “No one is going to hurt you. I won’t let them. Not anymore,” he assured her._

 

A look of betrayal washed over his features. Robert had been his childhood friend, carried into adulthood, the life of lies they all vowed into. No man wanted to believe that of his friend, especially not a man like Ned Stark, a man out of his time. He operated with honor in a business that dealt in deceit. It wasn’t the same for Jaime and Tyrion. They didn’t really have a choice, their father Tywin deciding the family’s fate long before they were a twinkle in the eye. Embracing their future, they knew more than to act as if there was any integrity to it.

Ned Stark never seemed to get that memo, setting up rules--a code of conduct for his people. It was obvious he held the same values in regards to his friends and allies. It hit him hard to hear that Robert was just as common as any other thug. “You know that for sure, do you?” He turned on his wife.

Catelyn’s blue eyes widened, her face solemn. “I’m sorry to say I do.”

Silence passed between husband and wife.

“I don’t really care who Robert smacked around,” Jon Arryn interjected. “He’s dead and his territory lays unclaimed.”

“Not quite unclaimed,” Jaime corrected.

“And not quite claimed, either,” Olenna observed. “If you wanted it, you haven’t spoken for it. I assume there’s a reason.”

Tyrion poured another glass. “My brother and I believe in keeping the peace.”

“Mutilating a corpse is a funny way of showing it,” Ned spat back.

“I didn’t appreciate his firm hand with Cersei,” Jaime explained. He turned to Catelyn and shrugged. “I’m sure you’d do the same in my shoes, should your wife be so abused.”

Ned’s low protective growl was answer enough.

“Where is she?” Catelyn lifted her chin. “If you love her so much, where is she?”

Lysa laughed. “Perhaps he’s smart enough not to include a gold-digging whore in the finer points of business.”

He wanted to snap back at her that the only reason why her crazy-ass was involved in any business was because Jon was too much of a pussy to keep her out of it. Instead, he grinned and said, “I may be new to this game, but I’ve enough common sense to know that if I had brought her, prior to us all coming to an understanding, it would be like walking her to the guillotine.”

“So you confess it was her that killed him?” Ned piped up.

“Come on, Ned,” Jon scoffed. “Women can’t shoot.”

“Jon!” Lysa hissed.

“I don’t recall hearing a confession from my brother’s lips,” Tyrion replied.

 

 

> _“What are we going to do?”  
>  _
> 
> _He appreciated that she waited to question him until they were alone in the car, driving back to his estate. Jaime wanted to tell her that they would fuck the bad memories away and rule the city together, but knew that was quite the oversimplification. It wasn’t presumptuous, though. The woman had killed her husband for him, no matter what Tyrion said._
> 
> _If it hadn’t been for him, then why was he her first call?_
> 
> _Exactly._
> 
> _He wouldn’t have been. She wanted him and this proved it. Jaime drew her up into his lap, and nudged her head down to his chest. “The world is going to think that I did this because I couldn’t bear it if they came after you.”_
> 
> _She nuzzled her face into his neck more, inhaling his scent as he stroked her golden mane. “I don’t want them coming after you, either,” she murmured._
> 
> _He smiled at that. “Don’t worry about me. I’m tough. I can take it.”_
> 
> _Cersei played with a button on his shirt as she worried, “Robert has friends...and brothers…”_
> 
> _Jaime relished the solid warmth of her body, curled in his lap. “Tell me about them,” he whispered in her ear before kissing her temple._

 

Jaime cleared his throat. “I killed him.” He took his time scanning the faces in front of him, adding for emphasis, “No one else but me.”

“Now brother, that’s not true,” Tyrion laughed. “A Lannister always pays his debts, does he not?”

Refusing to fluster, Jaime glanced at him from the side. What was he playing at? Luckily, Tyrion was quick to answer, “You saved my ass with Dad that time I fucked his favorite tennis instructor and he got pissed, so I felt it only fair I repay you by clearing Mandon out of the way to give you easier access to Robert.”

Lysa scowled. “You’re quite brazen for a little man.”

“Not everything’s so little, Sweetheart.” Tyrion winked and blew her a kiss.  

Jaime chuckled at his brother’s brass. “Robert pissed me off. I killed him. End of story.”

“Were that the case, we wouldn’t be meeting,” Ned deduced, rather slowly. “You’d be dead on sight for such an act.”

“Unless people appreciated my brother’s ambition.”

Jaime eyed Tyrion. That was pushing it. Robert was a fan favorite. He was too good for business for people to let him go so easily. “His territory-”

“Has everyone forgotten Robert has two brothers?” Olenna chimed in.

 

 

> _“Stannis is the middle child. Swore off the life--he’s chief of police now.”  
>  _
> 
> _Great. A lawman to deal with. Jaime tried to think of who they had on the payroll, how far the Lannister connections reached._
> 
> _“They weren’t close,” Cersei continued. “Robert was a blemish on Stannis’ upstanding record. There won’t be any hard feelings from that brother.”_
> 
> _“And what about the other?” She had said that Stannis was the middle son, which meant there had to be at least one more younger brother._
> 
> _“Renly. He’s too young to contest.”_
> 
> _Jaime thought of Tyrion. He was sixteen and running alongside aged veterans as if he’d been doing this all his life. Jaime supposed he had. Tywin always confided more in Tyrion than he had Jaime. Though, in fairness, Tyrion was always more interested in their father’s affairs than Jaime was. “Are you certain?”_
> 
> _She nodded. “He may wish to someday, but as it stands now, he wouldn’t have the backing or the knowhow to challenge.”_
> 
> _Seeing her mind work, the directions it took, excited him. “Where is he now?”_
> 
> _“Robert sent him off to school.”_
> 
> _That was convenient. “He’ll be back for his brother’s funeral, I’m sure.”_
> 
> _She flattened her palm over his chest, her fingers spreading over his heart as she assured him, “He won’t stay longer than a visit. He’s got nowhere to go, no friends. Robert saw to that--cast him out.”_
> 
> _“And why would that be?”_
> 
> _“Renly’s gay.”_
> 
> _“So?”_
> 
> _Cersei chuckled softly. “That’s what I said. Robert didn’t feel the same. Thought it best to keep some distance from his brother’s_ affliction _.”_
> 
> _“And Stannis? What was his thoughts on the matter?” The last thing Jaime needed was for the brothers to band together in Robert’s absence._
> 
> _“A gay brother isn’t the best look for the chief of police. Between Renly’s ‘experimentation’ and Robert’s criminal activity, Stannis stays away from family if he can.”_
> 
> _Jaime caught her hand and brought it to his lips for a kiss. “He sounds like a piece of shit.”_
> 
> _“He’s ambitious. And he doesn’t like the life,” she reasoned._
> 
> _Calling a spade a spade, Jaime asked, “Why are you defending him?”_
> 
> _Cersei sighed. “Sometimes I think he has the right idea. Just stay away from this business. You don’t get hurt that way.”_
> 
> _“I’m in this business, Cers. Don’t ‘stay away’ from me.” Jaime nudged her head back to kiss her, to taste her. “No one will ever hurt you again.”_

 

Jaime pulled his cigarettes from his pocket and slapped the pack against his palm. “They won’t be a problem.” He pulled one free, feeling them wait for explanation. “We know one’s a lawman who looks the other way, and the other’s still just a kid.”

“Some could say the same for you,” Ned growled. His gaze dragged over to Tyrion. “And him.”

Tyrion greatly disliked being reminded of his young age. “Shame for you, Father left us well-seated.”

“Can’t say the same for young Renly,” Jaime finished, bringing the cigarette to his lips. He closed his eyes, a demonstration of how little threatened he was by the company, as he lit the cigarette.

 

 

> _Warm water ran down their naked bodies, washing the blood and felony from them. At first he stood outside, not wanting her to think him taking any advantage. She was rigid, her arms crossed over her chest, fists under her chin as she shivered in shock. The wildfire in her eyes raged out of control with murderous memories.  
>  _
> 
> _The first kill was always the hardest._
> 
> _Jaime stripped free of his clothes and climbed in with her, wrapping his arms around her until she relaxed and melted into him. “I know it was awful, Babe,” he cooed into her ear. “Let me help you.” He coaxed her arms loose and placed them around him, hoping her hanging onto him would hold her up better._
> 
> _As soon as she allowed her body to meet his full-on, no limbs to hinder, she tightened her grip around him and turned her face to press a kiss to his chest. “There we go,” he soothed as he reached for the shampoo, chiding himself for only having men’s available. That was something he would have to address asap. He worked it into her hair, taking his time, gently massaging her scalp, and intermittently kissing her forehead._
> 
> _“Jaime?”_
> 
> _“Yeah?”_
> 
> _“It wasn’t awful…”_
> 
> _“Hmm?”_
> 
> _She looked up at him, blood splatter still dried and crusted to her cheek. “Killing Robert. It wasn’t awful.” She swallowed. “I kinda...liked it.” Her gaze dropped down as she whispered, “Does that make me evil?”_
> 
> _Jaime stared down at her, amazed at the excitement her confession brought, the blood flow to his cock fast and steady. She looked up when she felt his arousal bulge against her belly. Her eyes were cool jade stones that decorated a set of deep blackwater wells, curious at his sudden interest, though not unaffected herself. He smiled back at her, letting the nail on his thumb pick at the blood on her cheek as he said, “No. It makes you perfect.”_
> 
> _Her brow wrinkled. “Per-”_
> 
> _He cut her question off with his lips, their kiss meaning so much more now. She freed herself from Robert, and rather than loathing the act, she actually took pleasure in it. What did she do with her new found freedom? Ran straight into Jaime’s arms. She was so completely his and that was absolutely fucking perfect._
> 
> _Catching sight of the ‘Baratheon’ tattoo on her thigh, Jaime’s jaw clenched. He possessively declared louder than he meant to, “Not anymore.”_
> 
> _“What?”_
> 
> _He shook his head and forced a smile. “Nothing.” She was his now, no need to be jealous. Eyeing the tattoo again, he fantasized about wiping the name from existence._

 

“That doesn’t mean he won’t make friends one day,” Olenna pointed out.

Did she know something he didn’t? Olenna was smart, too smart for his liking. Luckily, Tyrion had a plan to keep her interest. Father said that Olenna prized good business above all else, and that would be what kept her from stirring the pot. Jaime took a long drag off his cigarette and then flashed her a grin. “Well, if he does, he’s welcome to come calling. I’ll kill him as I killed his brother.”

“I heard he likes a dick in the mouth anyway,” Lysa cackled.

She would mention that. Jon had the decency to purse his lips in silent warning at her. Catelyn looked away and Ned sighed at the loathsome familial connection. Olenna on the other hand, smirked subtly to herself, amused by Lysa’s inappropriate candor.

“That aside,” Tyrion cleared his throat. “My brother and I are willing to ensure that all families benefit from the Baratheon family’s fall.”

“Are you now?” Ned doubted.

“Let’s hear them out,” Jon spoke up.

“I’m all ears,” Olenna assured.

“Robert had four resources of note, and there are four families left. We’re willing to divide it up appropriately,” Tyrion explained.

“Only four?” Ned questioned, apparently thinking his friend was worth more than assessed.

“Territory, men, the meatpacking district, and-” He knew Ned wouldn’t want to hear this part, “Drugs.”

As predicted, Ned scowled and shook his head. “Not interested.”

Catelyn’s hand covered his and gave it a supportive squeeze. Where Ned looked away, she faced Jaime as Tyrion explained, “We didn’t think you’d be interested in that particular aspect, though we did think it would suit the Arryns, already connected to various shippers.”

“And what were you planning to keep for yourselves?” Olenna asked, suspicious.

“The men,” Jaime answered simply. “I killed Robert, those loyal to him are mine now.”

Catelyn’s eyes narrowed, and her voice hardened. “I assume that includes his wife.”

“She was hardly _loyal_ to him.” Olenna rolled her eyes. “I know you have a soft spot for the girl, but let her go.”

Catelyn scowled at her. “I do not have a ‘soft spot’ for her. I would just hate to see the poor girl forced into another marriage.”

“Robert never forced her, Cat. He courted her,” Ned defended.

Jaime could have socked him for such a statement, but knew Ned was blind to his friend’s ways. He turned to Cat, eyeing the red of her hair, matching it to the small lock of baby fine hair in Cersei’s purse. She cared for the daughter, and Catelyn in her own way, appeared to care for Cersei--at least to some degree. Jaime’s face softened, attempting to appeal to her more tender side. “Cersei is with me now.”

“Territory or meat packing?” Olenna interjected, concerned only with herself.

Tyrion grinned, “Meat packing is flourishing. Father always said you appreciated good business.”

“So land for us, then,” Ned deduced.

“They say land is cherished most in the north,” Jaime explained.

“It is,” Catelyn confirmed. “We get anything that isn’t meat or drugs?”

“With the exception of one establishment.”

Tyrion rolled his eyes at him. “My brother has taken a liking to a bar called, ‘The Falcon’s Nest,’ and would like to retain it.”

Outraged, Ned’s voice rose, “That was Robert’s favorite bar!”

“It has sentimental value.” Jaime took another puff off his cigarette.

“I only saw you there the once,” Ned argued.

Memory of Cersei sitting at the bar, her long hair cascading down her back and absolutely glowing in the light as she sipped her drink, came to mind. She spoke like a woman twice her age, her tongue sharp and her wit quick. He remembered the way he cupped her breast when no one was looking, the stimulation clear on her face at the gesture so bold. “Once was enough.”

Again, Ned looked prone to pounce. Catelyn’s grip on his hand tightened as she cooed in his ear, calming the beast.

“Drugs are ever-changing, men’s loyalties wax and wane, and property values rise and fall.” Olenna rose from her seat, straightening her skirt. “People are always hungry. There is always profit in meat. The Tyrells accept your offer.”

She turned on her heel and walked away. It was abrupt and to the point, and exactly how Tyrion said the woman would react. While the Starks were wrapped in sentiment, but the Arryns were not. For however fondly Jon felt for Robert, he knew the way of things too well to kick up much of a fuss. Jaime turned his attention to Jon and Lysa. Before he could ask their thoughts on the matter, Jon asked, “Would you be willing to sign an attestation to your offer?”

Jaime glanced at Tyrion who nodded. “We will sign you the rights to all of Robert’s drug trafficking connections, but we do not yield any of our own.”

“That’s fine. Robert was quite steeped in it,” Jon admitted.

“Jesus Christ. You’re all talking like sinning was all there was to the man,” Ned groaned.

Ignoring him, Jaime explained, “That’s why we thought it would be a fair deal.”

“One that would garner your attention,” Tyrion clarified.

“And kept us from contesting your grievous offense, you mean?” Lysa smirked.

Jon gestured off into the distance and a young man with dark hair and grey-green eyes stepped forward. His voice was smooth as he promised, “I took the liberty of writing something up as you conversed.”

“Well done,” Jon approved.

“Thank you, Petyr,” Lysa purred next to Jon.

Jaime leaned back, turning his head to listen to Tyrion gave him a quick rundown. “Goes by ‘Littlefinger,’ started taking jobs from Jon a month or two back. Gaining favor.”

It was hard not to notice the way Lysa eyed him, licking her lips at the kid. He looked a little younger than Jaime, though not much older than Tyrion. The woman had a reputation, Jaime would give her that. She was surely one to talk about loyalty. “He better watch out for Lysa,” he whispered from the side of his mouth. “I hear she’s got quite the appetite.”

Tyrion took the paper and read it thoroughly before nodding. Trusting his brother’s assessment, Jaime signed, eyeing Jon the entire time he did. Lysa’s grin spread wide, though Jaime wasn’t sure if it was because the kid was near, or because of the deal. Jon stood, extending his hand for Lysa to take as she rose to stand beside him. “It was a pleasure doing business with you.”

Jaime nodded in return sentiment, pleased to see them go, leaving only the Starks. Silence passed between them until Jaime finished his cigarette. He was reaching for his pack to pull another, hoping it would help calm his nerves, when Ned grumbled, “Robert and I were cut from the same cloth.”

Not quite.

Staying the course, Ned heaved a heavy sigh and continued, “We were in school together as boys. Took the same jobs. Liked the same girls-” He covered Catelyn’s hand on his with his other. “Mostly.”

“Your point?” Jaime asked, not wanting to argue, but more than willing to should the situation call for it.

“Those men worked alongside mine many times.” Ned drew a deep breath. “They belong with me more than you.”   

“Don’t get greedy now,” Jaime warned.

Tyrion appealed to the man’s honor. “Is it not tradition that the men conquered are the men turned? They are ours by rights.”

Ned stared back at them, letting his sense of right and wrong weigh out in his brain.

“Robert’s holdings are nothing to sneeze at,” Tyrion reminded them.

A few more moments passed, elongated by the quiet between them. With visible reluctance, Ned rose from his seat. “We will take the real estate.”

Jaime stood to meet him face to face, extending his palm to shake on it. Ned glanced down at it, scoffed and stormed off. Catelyn scarcely met his eye as she trailed behind her husband.

“No one said winning would feel good,” Tyrion said from below.

Jaime thought of Cersei at home, warming his bed. “Are you kidding me? It feels fucking phenomenal.”

 


	10. Ride or Die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was never growing tired of someone, or giving up on them. It was always being there no matter what and fighting on their side until the very end, when everyone else usually cleared out.

 

 

The Juicy Fruit gum he popped when he winked her way did little to cover the noxious stench of his stale booze breath as he mauled her neck. What she wouldn’t give for a drink, or a bump to better take her away from this pathetic excuse for man. Hell, the right substance would deliver her from this night entirely--far away from Jaime and the false fucking hope he inspired. Why would he be any different from Robert? Powerful, important men liked conquests, their sweet attentions rarely lasting past the point of acquisition.

The degenerate nipping and sucking her neck like a hungry dog with a dinnerbone, did little to take her mind off the blond adonis she’d been playing house with for the past few weeks. She shifted her necklace aside, away from the man’s lips. It was special to her--even if it had been Jaime that gave it to her, and she didn’t want him sullying it.

She had been quietly wallowing in a vat of self-pity over losing her connection to little Sansa Stark, the girl who still believed in fairy tales and happily ever after. Perhaps it was that belief in fantasy that allowed her to be so kind to Cersei when others were not. Regardless, befriending the little girl was the closest she’d ever come to tapping into whatever deep seated maternal instincts she had. Instincts she’d chosen to given up. The twenty-four carat gold locket featured a proud lion roaring on the front and held Sansa’s lock of hair inside it. He joked, “I can’t let a clump of kid’s hair rattle around your bag getting all frayed and banged up.”

Amazed at his acceptance, she questioned, “Rather than insist I get rid of it, you’re giving me a locket to keep it in?”

“You said it matters to you,” he shrugged. “I don’t have to understand it.”

There was that false hope.

Again, the pinhead on her neck caught the necklace in his teeth. She sighed and moved it away again. “If you insist on slobbering all over my jewelry, I’ll have to take it off.”

“Take it _all_ off,” he chuckled lewdly, purposefully misunderstanding her.

“Is that your best line?”

He drove his erection hard against her, pinning her harder against the tile wall. “You wanna fuck or not?”

Another wave of nausea hit her and she gripped his shoulder as her mind raced. It was supposed to make her feel better, fucking a stranger under Jaime’s nose...it had always worked with Robert. If Jaime was going to act like Robert, she would damn well treat him like Robert!

“I can make you forget your boyfriend.” He smirked, licking his lips, his eyes locked on her tits.

Considering all she’d been doing since entering the bathroom with him, was think about how much better Jaime would have been at everything the man tried, that was highly doubtful. It just wasn’t fair. Jaime was supposed to be different. He said he wasn’t like Robert, that he actually wanted a partner. He was supposed to value her opinions. And did he?

Of course not.

For the past three weeks he kept her holed up at his house while he conducted all the business. It was as she feared. He may have told her she was perfect and that they were in it together, but all he ever did was leave her out of everything. A hundred thoughtful necklaces wouldn’t remedy the dejection she felt.

She tried to ignore it, believed him when he said he was only being cautious, concerned for her safety. That was until she saw the women. All the fucking pussy that surrounded him. She’d seen it before, when they weren’t supposed to be together, but they were _something_ now. Why should she think that just because they’ve been all snuggled together in his home for so long, that anything in the outside world would change? He was hot, and he knew it. Each available snatch that latched onto him only better fluffed his fucking ego.

Her stomach lurched. The resulting gurgle was only slightly muffled by the loud club music pulsing through the bathroom walls. It was their first night out together, out in the open. He promised her no more hiding, no more house arrest. He introduced her to his crew, leaving out their relationship status.

Because there obviously was none.

They weren’t anything--maybe friends. Friends gave gifts and helped you bury bodies. Friends showed up when you found yourself in a bind. Sometimes, friends even fucked a little. Why did it bother her so much that the minute they left the car a herd of women plastered themselves on him? She apparently had no right to feel jealous, he made that clear by not pushing them away.

Well fuck him.

Cersei spotted this drooling hard-on a mile away and met him in the bathroom for a little pick-me-up and a little _I-don’t-need-Jaime_ while she was at it. When she was done, she’d go home with her ‘friend’ and act totally un-fucking-fazed by the events of the evening. Just like good old times with her late husband. Minus the bruises. There was that, at least. Her belly rumbled again, reminding her of it’s upset.

“Hmm, Suzie?” He ground his pelvis into her thigh again.

_Suzie?_

What a fucking idiot.

“You want some of this?”

A surge of hot acid burned up her throat, panicked by the sudden need for the toilet, she managed to push the drunk off her. Gripping the porcelain as she expelled what little she’d eaten that day, she tried to ignore the man behind her as he actually attempted small talk. “Whoa Sugar Lips, maybe you should take it easy on the sauce.”

She hadn’t drunk a single drop, too queasy. It was just as she was realizing she was sick the day before too, that she heard the bathroom door open behind her and him say, “Look man, I don’t want any trouble.”

“No trouble, huh?”

Cersei froze, every muscle tensing. She knew that voice.

Prying her fingers from the toilet seat, she slowly rose to stand, turning to see an insidious smile reach for Jaime’s ears. He nodded at the guy pleasantly, agreeing that ‘trouble’ wasn’t necessary. Cersei knew better than to believe his easy manner and sucked in a breath, flinching at the sudden pop of Jaime’s fist cracking the guy in the face. He had been too dumb to anticipate it and rather than fall, he stumbled back, allowing Jaime to continue his battery. She watched as blood splattered in every direction, both the sick slapping sound of Jaime’s knuckles pounding into wet slack flesh, and the man’s squeals of protest echoed off the tile walls and filled her ears.

It should have bothered her to see such brutality, to witness what men could do, though she found it oddly beautiful. When she shivered at the sight of Jaime’s rage, muscles rippling with each hard hit, it wasn’t with disgust, but instead fascination. She’d enjoyed watching him the night he kicked Robert’s ass, and thought her body’s visceral response was due to her own rage towards Robert. Seeing him now, she knew it wasn’t her revenge against Robert that aroused her, but the raw power Jaime exuded with each unforgiving blow. Fuck, he was strong.

Excitement fluttered low in her belly as she watched him dominate the other man. Jaime was a fighter, and he was fighting for her. If that wasn’t hot, she didn’t know what was. He kicked the guy on the ground one final time before flipping his hair back and wiping the sweat from his brow.

Cersei wet her lips when he turned his head to look at her. Black holes sucked in every last speck of verdant splendor that surrounded them. Did he get off on violence that much? Her nipples, perked against the thin material of her dress, reminded her she was one to talk. She held his gaze, appreciating the swell of each bicep from her periphery as he closed in on her, his hands landing on her hips.

There was nothing menacing about the way he gripped her, so he clearly wasn’t angry. Strangely, she got the feeling that he wasn’t worked up enough from the fight to ravish her against the wall, either. She would have rather enjoyed that. Instead, taking her entirely by surprise, there was a tenderness to his hold. Pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, he whispered, “Fuck me. Only me. Forever.”

Blinking a few times, Cersei swallowed, sweating. The room was suddenly too hot, and somehow blurry. Did he just say what she thought he said? She had just been in here with another man--a man he beat bloody, and he was really asking her to be exclusive. Not to mention the fact, that she’d only been in here because he was out there letting sluts sprinkle themselves around him. It was with a second wind of outrage that she tried to push away from him. “Yeah, sure thing. I’ll turn down dick to stand in line with all your other booty calls.”

Refusing to let her go, he tightened his grip on her, confusion clear on his face as he repeated, “Booty calls?”

“Don’t act like you didn’t notice all the pussy draped around you,” she growled, fighting harder against his hold.

Finally understanding, Jaime started laughing at her, further infuriating her with his amusement. “That’s why you’re in here?” He spun her around in his arms and clamped them tight around her so she couldn’t turn back, and kicked the broken pile of loser on the floor. “With him.”

Cersei said nothing, only wriggled in his arms, wondering why she was putting so much effort into evading something that was starting to feel so good. The hard bulge against her ass promised he was enjoying it too. His lips ghosted up her neck to tease, “Getting back at me for not caring where whores choose to congregate?”

Goosebumps spread from her neck, over her shoulder, and down to her breasts. The spicy scent of his cologne made her lashes flutter, catching only short glances of his forearms securely locked around her, denying her escape. He ran his teeth over the back of her neck, enjoying the way she trembled. A sincere kiss pressed over the point of pleasure played the part of apology. “If they bothered you that much, why didn’t you put them in their place?”

No longer struggling to be free, she asked, “Who am I to do that? It’s not like I’m your girlfriend, Jaime.” She bit back the question, _Am I?_

“No, you’re not.”

Cersei thought the pain she suffered would have felt sharper. It was nothing like the knife-in-the-heart she’d always been warned about. Instead, it was a dull, unrelenting press that obliterated it. A round metal rod punching into her.

“You’re forever.” He smiled in her ear. “I believe that’s what I was requesting a moment ago.”

Requesting? Forever?

Turning the words over in her head, Cersei craned her neck around to look him in the eye as she asked, “ _That_ was your proposal?”

Jaime let her go with one arm, still not willing to lose her with his other, and fished in his pocket. “Hold your hand up.”

Studying the set of his face, Cersei reluctantly lifted her hand. There was no small jewelry box, no expensive packaging to tip her off. He’d been carrying the ring in his pocket bare, at the ready for whatever moment he felt best. It was a blur of opulent sparkle as he brought the ring to her finger. She didn’t get a good look at it until he slid it all the way down to rest, his chin digging into her shoulder as he explained, “Gold because you deserve no less. The canary yellow color to the diamond because you’re anything but common, and the teardrop cut for all the tears people will shed when they learn it’s five carats.”

Five carats? The one Robert gave her was only three. It was a good thing she threw that one in the toilet and flushed it the night she murdered him. Now she had room for this beauty. Jaime loosened his grip on her, trusting the jewelry to mesmerize her still. His warm palm held her hip as he explained, “We’ve been through too much together to pretend we mean any less to each other than we do. I want you. Always.”

Doubt clouded the shimmering prospect he proposed. It wasn’t just the brainless twits he’d gotten so used to surrounding him, that she took issue with. Now that they were putting words--labels, to their feelings for one another, she could easily bitch slap the hussies away from him and assert herself by his side. Except, that she wasn’t by his side, pretty ring or no pretty ring. He’d kept her away, conducted his business without her.

Her hand dropped down to her side, no longer able to stand the way the ring caught the light. “Except that you don’t.”

“Don’t I?” His brow rose in skepticism.

There was no reason not to lay all the cards out on the table now that she’d rejected his offer, even if she hadn’t yet had the strength to taking off the ring. “You said you wanted a partner.”

“Yes…”

Her hand on his chest, gently separating him from her, was a poor choice. The ring flashed in her field of view, silently screaming for her to just shut up and accept him. After all, what the fuck else was she going to do with her life? She had no one. Only Jaime. And it wasn’t as if he was some wretched monster to be shackled to. No, that was a life she’d already lived. He was sweet and sexy, and apparently much more loyal than she’d expected. So what if he preferred leaving the work to the men? Why should she care?

Because he told her she should.

Because she never would have if it weren’t for him, putting ideas in her head, making her feel like she could rule his territory alongside him. He got her hopes up. “Nevermind. It’s nothing.”

She was about to tell him that she accepted (it being the logical choice) when it was he that now shook his head. “Don’t do that,” he said.

“Do what?”

“Hold back.” He leaned forward, fighting the very minimal resistance her palm offered to cup her cheek. “Not with me. Whatever it is, tell me.”

He wasn’t going to let it go, she knew that. Sighing, she fessed up, “You said I wasn’t just arm candy with you, that we’d work together.”

“Yes,” he agreed, smiling.

“Yet, for almost a month now, you’ve kept me sequestered away from the world while you take off to your dealings. Just like-” She stopped herself, a chill in her veins at the realization she’d almost said that part aloud.

Jaime frowned and finished for her, “Just like Robert.”

She said nothing. Didn’t need to.

Rather than erupting in rage, he closed his eyes and sighed deeply. “Baby, people wanted to kill you.”

“But everyone thinks you did it,” she argued.

“That’s the official story, yes. And only the idiots believe it. Anyone with half a brain know it had to be you. Me throwing my name at this only lets people know that if they fuck with you, they fuck with me too.” He covered her hand with his, letting his thumb rub over the ring. “There are other ways to show the city how we’ve allied ourselves, if you’re so concerned with business.”

He was hurt.

Shit.

Uncertain how to fix it, she let the seconds pass between them in silence. He finally broke it, speaking with conviction, “I kept you away to keep you alive, and that is all. As soon as it was safe, I brought you out. Proudly.”

She wanted to ask him how she should know that, but respected him too much to play that petty game. Implying a lack of trust escalated arguments, but didn’t really get them anywhere. As far as she could tell, he’d never lied to her, and where were they right now but out? There was a pack of sluts at his table, but there were also men, men he did business with. Where had he sat her? Right beside him.

Cersei cursed herself for jumping right to the worst. It was strange to have someone be so nice to her, to not have an angle. Could she really be faulted for not knowing how to handle it?

“Cersei.” His voice pulled her from her thoughts, bringing her back to him as he closed the gap between them. He tasted like a mixture of the car bombs he’d been enjoying earlier in the night and his own special flavor. She was suddenly self-conscious that she hadn’t brushed her teeth since vomitting fifteen minutes prior. Perhaps her mouth had watered enough while she inspected the gorgeous bling that iced her finger to clear the taste away. He seemed to have no complaints when he broke their kiss, pressing his forehead against hers, gripping the back of her neck. His eyes were so bright, so intense. “You’re my _ride or die_. Do you understand?”

Ride. Or die.

That was forever, just like he said. It was never growing tired of someone, or giving up on them. It was always being there no matter what and fighting on their side until the very end, when everyone else usually cleared out.

And hadn’t he been there when no one else was? With the child she couldn’t want, and the husband she had to end. Without her realizing it, Jaime Lannister had become her ‘ride or die’ too.

Fuck, that was romantic.

Sansa was right, he really was her Prince Charming.

Tears threatened to stream down her cheeks and she’d be damned if she’d let emotion screw up her makeup. Unable to speak, she nodded her head and flung her arms around his neck to pull him to her. “Yes.”

“Yeah?” He smiled back, astonished. “You’ll-” His lips met hers, “marry-” passion overcoming disbelief, “me?”

She released his bottom lip from her teeth, losing her breath as she panted, “ _Yes_!”

“Yes!” He exclaimed, grabbing her by the ass and lifting her to the counter beside them. Her hands roamed him frantically, feeling him solid against her. About to fall back into the sink, she gripped his shoulders and tried to scoot forward a little more. Helping her readjust, Jaime flung her legs open. The air hitting the damp spot on her panties, confirmed her how ready she was for him. With his face buried deep in her tits, he dragged her hard against him, letting the zipper on his jeans mash into her. Mutual desperation had both their hands racing to his belt, colliding and tangling. They laughed at the chaos of it all and she held her hands up as she leaned back. “Okay,” she conceded. “You do it.”

He grinned with self-satisfaction and gripped his belt before he looked down to work it. She ran her fingers through his hair, smiling contentedly as she waited. After a couple seconds passed, she asked, “Jaime?”

He had paused, staring down to the space between them. She glanced down to follow his gaze, and spied, _Baratheon_ etched offensively inside her thigh. Oh, no. It was one thing when they were carrying on an affair, even when he’d had her sequestered away in his home, no definition to what they were. This was different. She was to be his wife...with another man’s name on her body. Was he having second thoughts?

Jaime took a step back, a determined look on his face as he gestured to it. “I’m not marrying you with that.”

He was. Her stomach dropped, another wave of nausea hitting her. She took shallow breaths to stave off her gag reflex. “Jaime-”

Before she had a chance to finish what she was saying (not that she knew what to say anyway), he reached for her hand and tugged her off the counter. “Come on.”

He hadn’t looked angry, or fit to fight. In fact, he was too calm for comfort, leading her to ask, “Where are we going?”

“Tattoo parlor,” he answered simply, opening the bathroom door.

“Seriously?” She hollered above the loud music.

“Start thinking of what you want,” he called over his shoulder, offering her a mischievous smile as he did.

“I know what _I_ want,” a ditzy brunette with ringlets flirted before reaching for Jaime.

The audacity. Did she not see the huge rock weighing down her finger? Moreover, did he not notice the slut to his side? Judging by the way he continued to make for the door, his hold on her hand firm, he either hadn’t, or hadn’t cared one lick either way. Well, Cersei did, damn it. If for no other reason than that she was allowed to now. She pulled back on his arm, forcing him to stop and turn, then gave his curious expression a playful wink.

She thought of punching the girl, but didn’t think she was worth the swollen knuckles, so instead she spun the ring on her finger. “Wanna see my ring?” She asked the girl, smiling innocently as she did. Ringlets said nothing, too focused on Jaime to care what another woman had to say. Without further adieu, Cersei reeled back and slapped her hard across the face, watching the blood pour from the slash that ran the length of her cheek. Ringlets shrieked in pain and Cersei laughed as she asked, “Want another look? No?”

Jaime was on her in a second, crushing her to him, his lips hot and his cock hard. His fingers dug in her hair as he moaned in her ear, “ _Perfect_.”

“She’s not anymore,” Cersei snickered.

He nuzzled his nose into her neck. “She never was.” He let on palm drag down her neck and down to her breast as he breathed, “You, on the other hand…”

Heat rushed between her legs as she considered the possibility that he may very well fuck her right there on the dance floor. How wonderfully wicked that would be, though she hated the idea that he may stop once he reached her thigh again. Turning her head to catch his ear in teeth, she whispered, “We were getting me a tattoo, remember?”

Groaning his frustration, he gripped her hand again and pulled her out of there. They’d taken his bike to the club, and she’d teased him by hiking her skirt up higher to straddle the seat behind him. Laying against him, letting him lean for them, she pulled his shirt up just high enough to shove her hands under it. Relishing the feel of bare flesh and strong abs under her palms, she needed the security of it as they rode.

They were there in no time, and the minute Jaime walked in and waved a wad of cash in the air, there was suddenly an opening. Cersei hopped up on the table and showed the artist the tattoo she’d suffered for two years as Jaime explained they wanted it covered. The guy nodded and asked what she wanted. There really wasn’t a question in the matter, Cersei knew. She knew that night, poolside. “A lion,” she answered.

Jaime’s approving grin threatened to split his face. Cersei reclined back on the table, telling herself that soon enough the last traces of Robert Baratheon would be scribbled away. Pacing back and forth with an anxious energy, whether from his elation or residual effects of a hit he may have taken earlier in the night, she wasn’t sure, Jaime exclaimed, “Agh!” He peeled his shirt off and hopped on the table beside her. “I can’t let you do this alone.”

“What?” She laughed.

Jaime reached for her hand and brought it to his lips, giving her a reassuring kiss. “I want to share this with you.”

Her cheeks grew hot as she took him in, her gaze leaving his adoring eyes to rake over his perfect body reclined next to hers. He truly was magnificent. “What are you going to get?”

Jaime tapped one of his pecs as he answered, “A lion.”

Cersei bit her lip with excitement as she turned her hand to thread her fingers through his and give him a squeeze.

“Do you have HIV/AIDS?” The artist asked Jaime as he gloved up.

Jaime’s head shot up from the table “What?”

The guy shrugged. “Three questions I gotta ask everyone before working on them. First is whether or not you have HIV/AIDS.”

“No. I don’t.”

“Are you currently under the influence of any substances?”

“Not really,” Jaime chuckled. “I’m fine. It’s all worn off by now.”

The artist eyed him for a second, but then must have thought better of it before turning to Cersei to ask, “Do you have HIV/AIDS?”

“No,” she answered quickly.

“I thought you said there were three questions,” Jaime interjected.

The man nodded. “Yes, but the third’s only if you’re a chick. Doesn’t apply to dudes.” He turned back to Cersei. “Are you currently under the influence of any substances?”

“Actually, no. I’m not.” She might have been if she could get her stomach under the control.

“Are you pregnant or nursing?” He asked, prepping his tattoo gun.

His words hit her like a mack truck. Cersei started counting back days, looking for the magic number twenty-eight. Having far surpassed it, she started to panic, thinking of each and every time she and Jaime had sex. They’d used condoms, there was no way she could be pregnant.

“Cersei?” Jaime asked beside her.

Her chest tightened, protesting the memory of Robert lumbering on top of her, snarling his vile pillow talk as he forced her legs apart.

No.

She had stopped him before he could…

“ _Cersei?_ ” Jaime asked again.

“Look,” the artist said impatiently. “I can still do it if you are, I just gotta know ahead of time to warn you of the potential risks.”

Cersei glanced between the two of them, overwhelmed with nausea. Nausea she’d had in waves for the past couple days… Closing her eyes quickly, she flipped through her sex life again, praying for an unprotected moment with Jaime. If she couldn’t find one, perhaps she was lucky enough to have a cyst or tumor or some other medical oddity that acted like a pregnancy, but very much wasn’t.

A palm settled over her belly, startling her eyes open to see Jaime inches from her face asking, “Are you pregnant?”

It was then that the lightbulb struck, with his hand on her belly, much as his lips had been the night she snuck to his place to rub ointment on his bruises. He’d pulled her into his lap and held her closely while he rode bareback inside her. It had been dripping down her leg (ironically over Robert’s name) as he pushed her away and told her she needed to make the next move in their relationship. Smiling at the memory, she whispered, “I don’t know.”

“Really?” He asked, the pitch in his voice giving away his excitement.

She nodded, whispering, “The witch hazel…”

Beaming, he leaned over and gathered her up in his arms. “We’ll finish up here and go get a test.” Kissing her forehead, he teased, “Gotta see if my baby’s gonna be a momma.” One hand reached down for her belly as he promised, “If you are, we’re gonna spoil this kid rotten.”

He didn’t ask her if she wanted to keep it. Just assumed.

Taking in the way he so easily showered her with love, complete and utter acceptance, Cersei found herself deciding very quickly that he had assumed correctly. She wanted to watch him spoil a child, and she wanted to look down at it’s features, and recognize him in them. This was a baby she could keep.

Giving her one last squeeze, he let her go and laid back down, slapping his chest. “Alright, come on,” he called to the artist. “Let’s get the show on the road. We got other things to do tonight.”

Cersei smiled and rolled her eyes at him, finding his enthusiasm adorable. “The test doesn’t take that long, Jaime.”

“Oh that’s not the end of our night,” he answered, smoothly. “We’re going to Braavos.”

“ _Braavos?_ ” She asked, startled.

Lifting their clasped hands to his lips, he gave the back of hers another kiss before saying, “I don’t want to spend another minute without being married to you.”

He literally stole her breath away. It was no metaphor the way he left her gasping for air after he spoke so amorously to her. Forcing herself down to reality, refusing to give him such an upper hand, she scowled at him. “Don’t think you’re getting out of a ceremony. I want the works.”

Jaime let his head fall back against the table, laughing easily. “You’ll get it. We’ll have a big wedding after. Let’s elope tonight so I can call you wife when I wake up tomorrow.”

“Okay,” she agreed, only then noticing the second artist that had come in and started gloving up, speaking to the first guy. Taking her mind off the sound of the gun starting, she asked, “We’re really going to do this? Together forever?”

“Til death do us part.” Jaime grinned proudly.

That gave her a thought. People like them didn’t live long in the world, no matter how well connected they were. The city was a dangerous place filled with vendettas and she wasn’t exactly well-liked at present. With her acting as his partner, it wasn’t as if she would be safely tucked away at home. Somehow the image of them celebrating their eightieth birthdays seemed far-fetched. “How do you think we’ll die?” The question came out before she could think better than to ask it.

Rather than call her morbid or a buzzkill, Jaime answered seriously, “Murder-suicide.”

She stared incredulously at him.

“What?”

And here she thought she was being morbid. “ _Murder-suicide?_ ” She mocked, ignoring the light burn of lines permanently tracing over her flesh.

“We got too much passion to go out any other way, Cers.” Jaime played with her engagement ring, holding still as the artist worked on his chest. “When it comes down to it, if the end is coming, I’d never allow anyone to claim victory over you. I hope you’d do the same for me. Naturally, after having to give you up, I wouldn’t want to live anymore.”

 _Claim victory over her_ \--she’d never felt more Bonnie to his Clyde. Embarrassed to have ever questioned his desire to partner himself with her so equally, she agreed, “Murder-suicide it is then.”

“The real question is-” He paused for dramatic effect before flashing her a devilish smile and finishing, “Will it be in the Kitchen or Conservatory?”

She loved how playful he could be, so she encouraged it. “And here I was avoiding the Study all this time.”

“Clue, huh?” The artist on her thigh asked, interjecting himself into the conversation. “I like that game.”

“Shut up and let the lovebirds chirp,” ordered the artist on Jaime’s chest. “They’re getting married after this.”

Cersei glanced at Jaime, who grinned back at her.

“No shit,” the guy responded. “That’s great. You thought of your vows? Want them tattooed on?”

Oh no. Vows.

As Cersei started to spin in circles in her head, Jaime answered easily, “When the preacher turns to me and asks me to say my vows, I’m just gonna repeat the promise that got her to accept me in the first place: Ride or die.”

Of course. It was so simple. And perfect.

She pulled his hand to cover her belly again, silently wondering whether or not life bloomed inside. “And when it’s my turn, I’ll say the same thing.” Staring deep into Jaime’s eyes she too vowed, “Ride or die, Baby.”

**Author's Note:**

> I am a PetyrxSansa shipper first and foremost, with a very serious side crush for JaimexCersei. I've written a modern organized crime AU for my Baelishes to play in, and due to my deep appreciation/crushin' on JaimexCersei, I was able to grow them as side characters to act as foils to PxS. I popped them in chapter after chapter for little bits here and there, growing more and more until I could conceptualize their origin in the AU I created. Once I was able to do that, I really wanted to write how they began. Which is what Lion of the Rock is. If you're a JaimexCersei shipper reading Lion of the Rock and digging it, and don't mind the PetyrxSansa ship, you might consider reading JaimexCersei in this AU 20+years later in the Baelishes series. Though I would be flattered if you read the whole series, I am more than happy to fast forward you to the first JaimexCersei appearance in the series: Chapter 8 of Part 4: Deadheading the Roses found here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8301109/chapters/19576921  
> They don't show up in every single chapter, but as I went on writing the series they became more and more important and definitely got choice chapters.  
> Whether or not you choose to check out their older selves in the Baelishes series, I sincerely appreciate you reading and supporting this work.


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